Living Lightning
by Xx Kiamii xX
Summary: Harry wakes up in a new world, child-sized, and quite possibly about to be forced into a new journey unlike any he's ever been through. Frodo doesn't know what to think about this man-child with magic that is nothing like Gandalf's. The folk of Middle Earth are about to get a look at just what Harry can do, even though he looks like a kid. Ring Child Rewrite. Post!HP, During!LOTR.
1. Just Harry

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter. J.R.R Tolkein owns LOTR and J.K. Rowling owns HP. I am merely the original fanfiction author to the formerly popular story, _Ring Child_ (HPxLOTR). Should you recognize passages from either HP or LOTR, then simply refer it to yourself as an excerpt from either literary work. I will occasionally be using Tolkein's work almost word for word in some areas so that the wondrous descriptions and talk he gave in his writing is not muddied up by my attempts. This is not for monetary value nor anything other than entertainment to a fanfiction world. So do not judge on the basis of recognizing Tolkein's words. I do not claim them as mine.

**Pairings: **If any, they would be the original pairings of both fandoms. I am not romance-heavy in any story I write for some reason.

**Warnings: **There is the occasional **swearing** and **violence** to be mentioned in this story, but the fluff should more than outweigh this tidbit. The more major warning is that both stories are heavily **spoiled** by this story, as I have read both of them to the best of my abilities. Therefore, do not waste your time criticizing my lack of information mentioned or not mentioned. I was not a terribly immediate fan of the Lord of the Rings series, but I do like the books and movies nonetheless.

**Author: **Xx Kiamii xX

Ring Child Rewrite - Living Lightning - Chapter One "Just Harry"

* * *

**Setting (1): **The Hill at Bag End. April of 3018

"_Three Rings for the Elven-kinds under the sky,  
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,  
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,  
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne  
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.  
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,  
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them,  
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie." _(2)

Gandalf paused, taking a deep breath before he continued onward in a lower octave than how he was speaking before: "The Master-ring, the One Ring to rule them all. This is the One Ring that he lost many ages ago, to the great weakening of his power. He greatly desires it—but he must not get it. Darkness would befall should he accomplish such a thing."

No one spoke for a minute or two, Harry saying not a word. He sat beside the elderly-appearing Istar, his green eyes studying the hobbit before him with a slight frown on his cherub face. From what he had heard thus far, Frodo was in a situation akin to his own former life. One similar to fighting Voldemort to save his own world. Fear crossed Frodo Baggin's face before he stammered in reply. "This ring! How, how on earth did it come to me?"

"Ah!" said Gandalf with a shake of his head. "That is a very long story. The beginnings lie back in the Black Years, which only the lore-masters now remember. If I were to tell you all that tale, we should still be sitting here when spring had passed into winter." Harry allowed a slight amused smirk cross his lips before it vanished as Frodo looked over. The 17-year-old simply inclined his head, as if wondering what Frodo would do. He had no doubt the tale would indeed be very long, though it would be nice to know how it came into Frodo's hands. He was only aware of a few things that Gandalf told Frodo, after all.

"But last night I told you of Sauron the Great, the Dark Lord." Recalled Gandalf, glancing down at the child sitting at his feet. Harry looked up at him, feeling the stare, and blinked. He had arrived here just after Gandalf had told the tale to Frodo so it seemed, for he could not remember this Sauron character. "The rumors that you have heard are true: he has indeed arisen again and left his hold in Mirkwood and returned to his ancient fastness in the Dark Tower of Mordor. That name even you hobbits have heard of, like a shadow on the borders of old stories. Always after a defeat and a respite, the Shadow takes another shape and grows again." Harry's eyes narrowed as he heard Gandalf speak of a supposedly common place.

"Mordor?" repeated Harry, unsure of such a place. While he hadn't the foggiest of anything else Gandalf spoke of, the fact that Gandalf spoke of a place supposedly common amongst everyone spiked his curiosity. "Dark lord?"

"Aye, little one. Sauron the Great is of darkness here on Middle Earth. He resides in a place few have returned from, a location dubbed Mordor." Explained the wizard. Harry nodded, thinking to himself. So he was in Middle Earth. Of the Shire, if he could remember Frodo's words correctly. Another world then? That seemed highly plausible, what with how everything he knew was quite different. Then again, nothing was making sense exactly since the moment he'd awoken in this place last night…

* * *

**Setting: **Flashback: A night before

The sight before him was one he was not expecting –never in the entirety of his seventeen years of life had he ever thought he'd encounter anything of this magnitude— and Harry James Potter had experienced enough in his life to be able to say this with confidence. Then again, this was the boy who had faced a dark lord before he could even walk.

He was in a house, that wasn't unusual in itself, but this house was by no means of normal. In fact, he could compare this place to two wizarding homes that he'd been in once upon a time. Much like the burrow, it spoke of warm years and well-used living. Books splattered tables with its spine clearly opened many times. The kitchen, from where he could see, was obviously the favorite room of the household, whoever owned this house. Apart from the Weasley's abode, however, this place described a Malfoy with its riches that were found. The golden plate that Harry could see sitting on the table, was one such example. He thought nothing of its size, until he looked over to his left.

His emerald green eyes shot hopefully to the round and large wooden door leading to the exit only to notice a shadow near it. A large shadow, perhaps of Hagrid size –though that could be over-dramatizing the height if he were to be honest. He turned to face the unknown threat and reached for his wand. Hands patted at nothing but cloth, evoking a gasp from his person.

His wand! Where was it? As the youth searched his body, he noticed how close to the ground he was and that he was wearing robes unfamiliar to him. They were a dark black, nothing different, but were trimmed in a shimmering emerald green along the hems. He saw no patches on the robe, but he felt the material to be different than one he usually wore. He couldn't place what the material could be, sadly; he had more pressing matters to attend to.

His hands shot up to his face and he looked at them in horror. A pinky wiggled, showing that they were very much his. Tiny—slightly baby-fat chubby— fingers were all he could see. 'Oh Merlin, I've been shrunk!' Harry bemoaned, wondering what all had been done to him in his unconsciousness. Shrunk, de-aged, or even possibly turned into a creature Harry couldn't tell. The thought didn't sit well in his stomach. He hoped he hadn't been turned into a house-elf! A quick rub at his ears solved that question though and he breathed in relief. One assurance down at least.

An amused hum snapped the young man from his thoughts and Harry glanced upwards at the shadows once more. The shadow shifted before an elderly man stepped forward, surprising Harry with the similarities to one Albus Dumbledore. There were differences though, that he could see. Aged and less elderly-appearing than Dumbledore, as well as grey-haired and very grey in clothing he was. Atop the man's head was a tall pointed grey hat, matching the long grey cloak and accentuated with the odd silver scarf around his neck. Most notable was the long white beard and bushy eyebrows that stuck out to him from under the hat.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, before biting his cheek. Smooth Harry. Possibly irritate the unknown wizard-looking elder before him while defenseless. Nevertheless, the odd looking man chortled in reply.

"Refreshing youth," mused the man. "I, dear little one, am Gandalf the Grey. Your presence upon a hobbit's abode is a curiosity. Perhaps I could be knowledgeable of your name, hmm?" Harry gave him a startled look, unaccustomed to the way the man talked.

"Harry," he finally said. "Harry Potter."

"A last name, you say?" Gandalf gave a slightly surprised look, before his eyes turned thoughtful. Harry raised an eyebrow at the remark, keeping the shock that Gandalf did not know his fame to himself, before shrugging. "Not a hobbit… Nor elfling… Hmm, interesting. A child of man, you are. Yet not entirely… Very interesting."

"I'm sorry?" Harry asked, looking at Gandalf with a weird expression. Gandalf caught the look and smiled.

"You're of magic, power running through your blood and veins. A great tremendous power. Unseen by any kind upon Middle Earth." Gandalf said. "I would say close to my own magic, if not for your true appearance, a child of man."

"I am 17, not a child!" Harry replied indignantly, looking up at the man with narrowed eyes. Who was this bloke to be talking about him as such? Gandalf looked at him before smiling.

"Forgive me," chuckled Gandalf, "seventeen indeed. Of partial elvin blood, or even of blood not seen before, you retain. For your physical appearance borderlines four summers at most." (3)

Four…summers? Wait, four years old!? Harry gawked at Gandalf, disbelieving. He knew he was shrunk, but to be below the primary school age was just mortifying. "You're joking," Harry finally said, not falling for this elaborate prank.

"It is not my habit to make such jokes," said Gandalf, pulling forth a pipe to smoke. Harry watched him warily as the man began to puff. "I do say with other concerns the night now lingers on and perhaps we shall alert young Frodo Baggins to your arrival to his little hobbit hole before retiring to bed. Least he panic at your presence. Answers must wait in attention to rest." Gandalf smiled mysteriously before the door opened and Harry turned his attention to someone quite short, only just at his new height he could see.

"Gandalf, we seem to have run out of—who is this?" Frodo interrupted himself at the sight of a child, a _child of man_ standing there before his old friend. For there was no other possible race that this boy could be. Harry glanced at the newcomer only to do a double take. Frodo, as Gandalf had called him, wore no shoes though he need not to wear any. They were almost as give away that he was no mere man as was his face upon his short body. A man's face. Did Harry look as such too? No, Gandalf had said he looked four. This must have been a hobbit, the creature Gandalf had noted earlier to him. At least, he was guessing that was what Frodo was.

"What are you?" asked Harry.

"I," indignantly replied the short man, "am I hobbit! I ask again, who might you be?"

"Harry," the wizard said, leaving off his last name after Gandalf's reaction.

"Very well, Harry. What business have you in my home?" the hobbit asked curiously, his guard easing at the very fact Gandalf was merely watching in content. Harry looked at the elderly wizard questioningly.

"I don't know. I was sleeping when I woke up here." Harry answered honestly. Where, he was, he did not know in specifics. "Where am I exactly?"

"Bag End of the Shire," proudly answered Frodo, "and I am Frodo Baggins." Harry opened his mouth to inquire about this Bag End, and if he knew how to get back to England, when Gandalf spoke once more after a long draw on his pipe.

"I say we retire to bed before anymore questioning." Gandalf invoked before they continued talking. Harry looked at him strangely, but decided to take heed. Frodo showed him to one of the rooms and left him to get a bit of rest, but Harry could not sleep that night. Where was Hermione? Or Ron? Where was _he_?

* * *

**Setting: **Back to the present

"My dear Frodo!" exclaimed Gandalf, making Harry jump back to the present time and place. He shot Gandalf an irritated look at the loud remark. "Hobbits are really amazing creatures, as I have said before. You can learn all that there is to know about their ways in a month, and yet after a hundred years they can still surprise you at a pinch. But Bilbo made no mistake in choosing his heir, though he little thought how important it would prove. I am afraid you are right. The Ring will not be able to stay hidden in the Shire much longer; and for your own sake, as well as for others, you will have to go, and leave the name of Baggins behind you. That name will not be safe to have, outside the Shire or in the Wild. I will give you a travelling name now. When you go, go as Mr. Underhill.

But I don't think you need go alone. Not if you know anyone you can trust, and who would be willing to go by your side—and that you would be willing to take into unknown perils. But if you look for a companion, be careful in choosing! And be careful of what you say, even to your closest friends! The enemy has many spies and many ways of hearing." Gandalf suddenly stopped, as if to listen to something. Harry forced himself up to stand as the wizard made his way to one side of the window with Frodo and Harry watching. How long had he been thinking, anyways? Judging by Frodo's face, something else had been brought up that Harry had missed out on with his day dreaming.

'Potter you fool,' Harry scolded himself, having missed something possibly of importance. Turning his attention to Gandalf, he watched as the elderly man tugged something before a curly head popped up into the window, his ear in Gandalf's clutches.

"Well, well, bless my beard!" said Gandalf. "Sam Gamgee is it? Now what may you be doing?"

"Lor bless you, Mr. Gandalf, sir!" said Sam. "Nothing! Leastways I was just trimming the grass-border under the window, if you follow me." He picked up a pair of garden shears to present to them. Harry recalled the many times he used those tools, under the Dursley's windows to garden, with a shudder. At 17, he'd never have to see those blundering relatives again… but would he get to see his friends again, with him clearly so far away from home? Harry chose not to dwell on this.

"How long have you been eavesdropping?" Gandalf was asking.

"Eavesdropping, sir? I don't follow you, begging your pardon. There ain't no eaves at Bag End, and that's a fact." Pleaded Sam. Harry snorted, blushing under the looks the three shot him_. 'Well it was funny to me at least,_' Harry defended mentally. These people talked so odd in his opinion, he almost had a hard time understanding them!

"A child?" asked Sam in awe. "Of man, is he?" Harry had no clue how this Sam could tell immediately what he was, but guessed the fact his short black hair left him a bit exposed and helped give him away.

"Never you mind. What have you heard, and why did you listen?" Gandalf interrogated. Harry saw Sam catch the annoyed look on the man's face and the hobbit paled. Gandalf didn't look that intimidating, but Harry supposed to Sam he did. He was, after all, stuck in the wizard's clutches.

"Mr. Frodo, sir!" cried the nervous Sam. "Don't let him hurt me, sir! Don't let him turn me into anything unnatural! My old dad would take on so. I meant no harm, on my honour sir!"

"He won't hurt you," said Frodo, looking for all the world as if he wanted to laugh instead of truly defend his friend from being cursed. Harry's lips quirked upward, seeing that there was no harm to be found in this situation. As the trio continued to talk between them. His eyes drifted over to the fire and he wandered over to it, half-paying attention.

"I heard a deal that I didn't rightly understand, about an enemy, and rings, and Mr. Bilbo, sir, and dragons, and fiery mountain and – and Elves, sir. I listened because I couldn't help myself, if you know what I mean. Lor bless me, sir, but I do love tales of that sort. And I believe them too, whatever Ted may say—"

"Elves? Dragons?" Harry asked, startled as he heard the creatures from Sam. He turned to face them. "They exist here, too?"

"Here too, you ask?" copied Gandalf, raising a bushy eyebrow. "From whence came you, child? Curious indeed. Yes, yes, they exist. As do many other creatures." He turned back to Sam with a laugh and hauled him in through the window easily. "So you heard that Mr. Frodo is going away?"

"I did, sir." Sam said with a glance to Harry. "And that's why I choked: which you heard seemingly. I tried not to, sir, but it burst out of me: I was so upset."

"It can't be helped, Sam," said Frodo sadly. "But if you really care about me, you will keep that dead secret. See? If you don't, if you even breathe a word of what you've heard here, then I hope Gandalf will turn you into a spotted toad and fill the garden full of grass-snakes."

Ouch. Harry grimaced at the thread, and at the reminder of snakes. '_Can I still talk to snakes_?' the boy-who-lived mused. He supposed he would have to give it a try later on, when he had time to himself. His hand reached up to his forehead at the reminder of Voldemort's gift, only to pause at the faded lightning bolt scar sitting neatly on his forehead. It was faded, he'd seen the night he defeated the dark wizard, but not gone. Never to leave him.

Sam fell on his knees, clearly terrified of the threat. Gandalf barked at him to get up before telling Sam that he would instead accompany Frodo. Sam shouted with joy before bursting into tears, leaving Gandalf to turn to Harry.

"As for you, we must discuss from whence you came and what to do with you now." Mused Gandalf aloud. Harry's eye twitched at the feeling of being a test subject before nodding. He followed Gandalf out of the room, away from the two hobbits and to a bedroom, clearly made for one of Gandalf's size in the little home. Now that he looked, he could see that Gandalf was a great deal bigger than most of the areas of the house. Did that make Gandalf a giant, or was everything just smaller here?

"You are not a child from this world, are you?" asked Gandalf, a hard look finally forming on his face. Harry shook his head, deciding to be honest. Gandalf had no information on him, and neither did Harry. Perhaps, he should make a deal.

* * *

**Setting: **Two weeks later

"You ought to go quietly, and you ought to go soon," said Gandalf. Harry looked up from where he was beside Frodo, learning to read. While he could understand the common language apparently, he was having trouble reading and writing it. He could remember his own way of speaking and thus drew problems in how to speak similar to his new companions. Frodo had decided to task himself with teaching Harry. In addition to learning the common language, Frodo began to teach him a few other cultural tidbits of this world. Long way from home indeed.

"I know. But it is difficult to do both," Frodo objected. He had made no sign of getting ready to flee his home in the two weeks since Harry had arrived. "If I just vanish like Bilbo, the tale will be all over the Shire in no time. Harry's arrival has already risen a few eyebrows toward me."

"Of course you mustn't vanish!" said Gandalf. "That wouldn't do at all. I said _soon_, not _instantly. _If you can think of any way of slipping out of the Shire without its being generally known, it will be worth a little delay. But you must not delay too long."

"What about the autumn, on or after Our Birthday?" asked Frodo. "I think I could probably make some arrangements by then."

"When is your birthday?" inquired Harry, turning a page in the book before him.

"The 22nd of September. I will be fifty this autumn," answered Frodo. "Perhaps a break from reading? Your birthday comes when, Harry?"

"Alright," agreed Harry, closing the book and handing it to the hobbit before getting up. "And my birthday is July 31st. I will be eighteen." Frodo showed some surprise that Harry was older than he appeared, but said nothing on the matter. His own adopted father had looked very young even though he was over a hundred, after all.

"That will do—but it must not be any later. I am getting very anxious. In the mean-while, do take care, and don't let out any hint of where you are going! And see that Sam Gamgee does not talk. If he does, I really shall turn him into a toad. Or teach young Harry to do so for me."

"I know how to turn someone into a toad," argued Harry. "I just do not have my wand."

"A wand?" Gandalf queried. "Perhaps, you would do well with a staff." Frodo walked from the room, heading to the kitchen to prepare a mid-day meal, as Harry learned they call lunch for the most part. It was still called lunch to them, but often they said it as such. These strange phrasings and odd wordings, he had discovered. Hermione would have loved it.

"I don't think a staff would help, but thanks," Harry assured.

"We shall try, at any rate," hummed Gandalf, getting up from his seat to join Frodo in the kitchen. Perhaps to continue their talk of the quest, Harry hadn't a clue. He was thankful to the wizard's aid since coming here, so he didn't push for further information. He didn't want to become part of this journey of Frodo's, but he knew he would most likely join the hobbit at any rate. Gandalf had requested it of him. For a child he may look, his magic would help Frodo in his journey forward once they figured out a way for Harry to use it again. At the reward of Gandalf searching for a way to return Harry home, he would do this for the older wizard.

Roughly a week since then, Gandalf abruptly left only to return a few days later with the means to handcraft a staff for Harry. The staff was small, but rather large for the now child-sized wizard. Magic shot from the staff at Harry's touch, much like his wand had, and they found that they were successful. The staff, as it were to be called instead of a wand, was a thick branch carved and whittled down to be polished and a lusciously straight wood in his hands. Inside contained cores of elements that Gandalf had gathered before finally tying the staff with his own magic to bind the staff.

News had reached the _Ivy Bush _and _Green Dragon_ almost immediately when Frodo did put his plan into action. Gossip sprung up about Frodo selling Bag End, to the Sackville-Bagginses. Harry had learned that they were a nasty bunch of relatives of Frodo's, indeed reminding him of the Dursley family too much that he had to suppress the urge to hex the lot. Frodo had to nearly take Harry's staff from him to prevent such an incident, at any rate.

Information about Frodo's sale wasn't the only thing worthy for mention as of late. Harry's arrival had been kept hidden since he arrived until a week after he came. The hobbits of the Shire had become aware a human little boy was roaming among them with Mr. Baggins. Harry was uncomfortable with all the distrustful stares and amazes gazing upon him, but he ignored it when he went out with Frodo to other places. He'd had worse.

He had been introduced to Merry Brandybuck shortly later in the weeks; Merry being a quirky little hobbit with a mature side that reminded Harry dearly of Hermione for some odd reason. Harry had remained with Gandalf while Frodo selected his home at Crickhollow, the two wizards entertained with learning one another's magic. Harry was fascinated with the ease by which Gandalf could perform his magic, while Gandalf had been merry to learn of Harry's Latin spells and magic-induced movements. They made a promise to exchange one another's spell work when they had more time and means. Harry could seldom cast a spell without collapsing in dead exhaustion for the current moment. Nevertheless, he worked hard on his spell casting once more, trying to recall Latin spells he used in his schooling.

Gandalf stayed in the Shire for over two months. Then one evening, at the end of June, he announced that he was headed off the next morning. "Only for a short while, I hope," he said. "But I am going down beyond the southern borders to get some news, if I can. I have been idle longer than I should."

Harry thought he looked rather worried about something, but did not comment. Gandalf had been rather distracted by something in the month that he stayed with Frodo and Harry.

"Has anything happened?" Frodo asked, setting a tumbler of apple juice before Harry. The boy thanked him and took a sip. While Frodo hosted a number of drinks, Harry preferred the natural sweetness of apple juice after years of pumpkin juice being his preferred beverage.

"Well no; but I have heard something that has made me anxious and needs looking into. If I think it necessary after all for you to get off at once, I shall come back immediately, or at least send word. In the meanwhile stick to your plan; but be more careful than ever, especially of the Ring. Let me impress on you once more: _don't use it!_"

Before he left at dawn, he turned to the two of them. "I should think for now that we keep your magical heritage a secret, young Harry. Your father was by the name of James, you say? Then Harry, son of James, is of how you must introduce yourself. Speak of no magic near any unless dire circumstances are among you. I feel your magic is of too much interest, for any race, to be safe common knowledge."

"Alright," agreed Harry.

"I may be back any day, at the very latest I shall come back for the farewell party. I think after all you may need my company on the Road."

The two watched Gandalf make his way out of the Shire, leaving the wizard and hobbit to their troubled thoughts. Harry had discussed it with Gandalf, of a way back to his home. The Istar was troubled by Harry's entrance to the world, but could not offer a solution for how Harry could return. The two decided that Harry would simply accompany Frodo on the journey, and meet with the elves in Rivendell to decide if anything could be done.

September was passing, Harry's birthday with the hobbit a quiet affair as Harry had asked of Frodo, and there was no sign of Gandalf. The Birthday drew nearer and still Gandalf did not come, or even send word. Bag End began to be busy. Some of Frodo's friends came to stay and help him with the packing: there was Fredegar Bolger –Harry had been amused to hear was called Fatty—and Folco Boffin, as well as Pippin Took –the hobbit took a keen liking to Harry almost immediately—and Merry Brandybuck. Between the hobbits and Harry, they turned the whole place upside-down.

On September 20th two covered carts went off laden to Buckland, conveying furniture and goods that Frodo had not sold to his new home, by way of the Brandywine Bridge. Harry practiced his magic, suffering the exhaustion of using several spells, while Frodo and he waited for Gandalf once more the next day. By Frodo's birthday, there was no sign of Gandalf still. In the evening, Frodo gave his farewell feast to the handful of his helpers, his face troubled and no mood for obnoxious feasting and joy as Harry observed from his spot at the table. He could understand Frodo, truly he could. The hobbit had confided to Harry that he was worried of breaking the news to his friends about leaving. Saying goodbyes were never Harry's favorite as well.

The dining-room was bare—except for the chairs and table— but the food was good, and there was good wine: Frodo's wine had not been included in the sale to the Sackville-Bagginses. Harry had been allowed a cup of the wine, only to immediately find himself in the washroom to dispel the drink.

"Even children of men cannot stand wine. Only hobbit young'uns, I thought," chuckled Merry as Sam went to Harry's aid. Harry shot him a glare, before returning to his seat to drink a cup of water instead. He'd had alcohol before, Harry reminded himself. Just not wine, though he hadn't had Firewhiskey either. Ron would've had a laughing fit at him, if he were to see.

The hobbits sung many songs, and talked of many things they had done together, toasting Bilbo's birthday, and drinking to his and Frodo's health according to the customs. They went out to view the stars, the sky the same to Harry as his own world thankfully, before they retired to bed. The party was over, and Gandalf had not come.

"Perhaps he is tied up?" Harry asked.

"Tied up?" Frodo repeated in alarm, scrambling to his feet with an urgency of panic laced within his tone.

"Sorry!" Harry backtracked, holding up his small hands to keep Frodo there. "I meant to say, he is detained by something holding his attention?"

"Right, right," Frodo said, his relief coming in as he sat back down on the steps with Merry aiding Fatty in taking the remaining luggage away. Harry gave him a sheepish look and plucked at his tunic, the robes he wore when coming here hidden away in the sack beside him. Really, this whole speaking different was getting harder to do than he thought. He scuffed his black shoes on the porch before following Frodo inside.

"We will leave in the evening, should Gandalf not come," Frodo said with a troubled look. Harry nodded and said nothing more on the matter. He set his pack on the floor before walking to the window overseeing Frodo's garden.

"Do you not miss your friends, Harry?" Frodo asked when he saw the boy's faraway look.

"I do," Harry answered. "But I will see them again I think. Gandalf said I should see the elves. They might be able to help me."

"I should hope so." Frodo hummed before he set about answering the door to the dreaded Sackville-Bagginses, Lobelia and her sandy-haired son, Lotho.

"Ours at last!" said Lobelia, as she stepped inside. Harry wrinkled his nose in dismay at her, pointedly staring her family down when they entered. Frodo chuckled and tugged on the back of Harry's tunic, keeping the boy beside him. Harry came at only an inch below Frodo at the very least, and not gruesomely shorter like Harry was compared to Gandalf.

Frodo, Harry, Pippin, and Sam took their tea in the kitchen. It had been announced to all that Sam was coming to Buckland "to do for Mr. Frodo (and his companion Harry) and look after his bit of garden": an arrangement that was approved by the Gaffer, though it did not console him for the prospect of having Lobelia as a neighbor. Harry couldn't agree more to that. The woman was just foul, he thought as he watched her irritable person hustle and bustle through the hobbit hole with a list to make sure everything she bought with the house was still there.

The packs were piled on the porch before Pippin took one last stroll while Sam disappeared. Frodo and Harry shared a look. "Go on and look around your home once more?" suggested Harry, remembering doing the same before he'd turned 17. The memories may not have been great growing up, but Harry had still wanted to reminiscent of his childhood. Frodo nodded and studied the home while Harry stayed outside to give him a moment. Harry was left to his thoughts.

Over a month he'd been here, away from his friends and his own world even. Was anyone looking for him? Probably… _But they were more likely looking for their savior_, he thought bitterly. He shook his head, wondering why he was so at ease with this place after dealing with untrusting characters in his life.

Perhaps because they truly could mean no harm? Or that Gandalf and Frodo had been helpful to Harry since he'd come here? He didn't know. His instincts, which he'd learned to trust over the years, told him they were trustworthy folk at any rate. This month or so had honestly been the most peaceful he'd had in years. He had three primary meals a day, not including tea time and other snacks with Frodo, and was actually filling in a little instead of the scrawny child he was. Harry sat in Frodo's garden with several books from the hobbit (and even Gandalf) to occupy his time, or he would practice his magic with Gandalf (or without him) behind the hobbit hole. Sometime he'd walk with Frodo or Sam to other parts of the Shire, helping Sam to tend the garden or other chores around the yard.

Frodo came out and informed Harry he would be taking a walk before leaving shortly. Harry watched him go with a bemused smile on his face. Why was this place so enjoyable than his own home? He knew why as he thought. No reporters. No dark lords –with the exception of Sauron—and no evil doers to fight immediately. There was a significant lack of chaotic disruption here thus far, and Harry found himself growing fond of Frodo and Gandalf (and even the other hobbits that were Frodo's friends).

Pippin came trotting over to Harry and joined him on the porch. "Good thoughts, Harry?" Pippin asked cheerfully. Harry gave Pippin a bemused look before nodding.

"You could say that," Harry replied, adjusting his pack to better hide the staff inside. Frodo came up to them not long after, looking in thought before he stepped up to them. "Sam!" called Frodo. "Sam! Time!"

"Coming, sir!" came the answer from far within Bag End, followed soon by Sam himself, wiping his mouth. Obviously he had been saying farewell to the beer-barrel in the cellar if the beer droplets were any indication. Harry grinned at the thought.

"All aboard, Sam?" said Frodo.

"Yes, sir. I'll last for a bit now, sir."

Frodo shut and locked the round door, and gave the key to Sam. "Run down with this to your home, Sam!" he said. "Then cut along the Row and meet us as quick as you can at the gate in the lane beyond the meadows. We are not going through the village tonight. Too many ears prickling and eyes prying," Harry watched Sam take the keys and run off. He was sure to be exhausted later. Shaking his head, Harry pulled the pack up onto his shoulder and looked to Frodo for direction. This was Frodo's journey, after all.

"Well, now we're off at last!" said Frodo. The other two shouldered their packs and took up their sticks –well the hobbits did anyways— and walked round the corner to the west side of Bag End. "Good-bye!" said Frodo, looking at the house. Harry paused and watched the hobbit. Frodo waved, and then turned to hurry after Harry and Peregrin down the garden-path. They jumped over the low place in the hedge at the bottom and took to the fields, passing into the darkness like a rustle in the grasses. Harry glanced back at the first place he ever laid eyes on in this world before turning back to the front, walking between the two hobbits.

They met up at their location, adjusting their straps as Sam came trotting over to them quickly, his breath labored and his pack high on his shoulders. Harry offered to take some of the weight from Sam, but was waved away on the offer.

"I am sure you have given me all the heaviest stuff," said Frodo jokingly. "I pity snails, and all that carry their homes on their backs."

Harry inclined his head. "Perhaps I could try a bit of magic to make them lighter?" he asked. Frodo gave Harry a long look, before deciding there was no harm in trying. He removed his pack and held it up to the young wizard. Harry knew Gandalf would come after him if he discovered Harry blatantly using his magic, but the hobbits covered him nicely as he withdrew his staff. And really, his magic could aid their journey more than hinder.

" _Pondor _," whispered Harry, not wanting any to hear of his incantations for reasons he knew not. (4) He tapped the end of his staff against Frodo's pack, and the hobbit blinked in surprise, clearly now wondering if the pack was even still in his hand if not for seeing his own hand holding onto the item. Harry performed the magic on the other packs before doing so to his own, smiling in triumph before he shouldered his pack with the staff returned inside.

"Truly, a wizard accompanying us was the best," Pippin said happily. "Food would be nice to magic to us, you know."

"I can't conjure food with my magic," Harry regretfully said.

"Don't be asking things more of Harry!" Frodo said sharply. "None must know he can do as he can with his magic. _No one_. Meaning no speaking of a wizard, or of tricks we cannot perform." He stressed the 'no one' to the other two who wisely nodded. Harry didn't know why hearing Frodo talk as such made him happy. Perhaps because Frodo was keeping the secret just that, a secret?

For a short way they followed the lane westwards. Then leaving it they turned left and took quietly to the fields again. They went in single file along hedgerows and the borders of coppices, and night fell dark about them. Harry felt the wind tousle his raven black locks peacefully, putting him at an ease he never felt in his travels around his own world in a race against Voldemort for the horcruxes.

In their dark cloaks Harry felt that they were quite hard to see in the night. The hobbits were easily quiet, he discovered, especially when they aimed to be silent. No one easily noticed their passing, to their relief.

After some time they crossed the water, west of Hobbiton, by a narrow plank-bridge. Harry smiled at the peaceful scene before him. Frodo gave him quiet descriptions of each place they passed. Brandywine Bridge, then Tookland, and finally the Green Hill Country. The names were no more bizarre than the Wizard world's locations, so Harry did not bother with pondering the absurd names.

As they were climbing the slopes, the hobbits looked back towards Hobbiton almost wistfully, Frodo making a small remark before they walked for three more hours, the night was clear, cool, and starry, when the group rested. Thin-clad birches, swaying in a light wind above their heads, made a black net against the pale sky. They ate a very frugal supper (for hobbits at least. Harry had no qualms with it), and then went on again. They hit Woodhall, and Stock, and even the Bucklebury Ferry soon after.

After a while they plunged into a deeply cloven track between tall trees that rustled their dry leaves in the night. It was very dark. At first they talked, or hummed a tune softly together, being now far away from inquisitive ears. Then they marched on in silence, and Pippin began to lag behind. At last as they began to climb a steep slope he stopped and yawned.

"I am so sleepy," he said, "that soon I shall fall down on the road. Are you going to sleep on your legs? It is nearly midnight."

Harry looked over at hearing Pippin speak. They would halt at the most convenient spot according to Frodo soon after; as they made their way over the top of the hill, they came to the patch of fir-wood.

Leaving the road they went into the deep darkness of the trees, and gathered dead sticks and cones to make a fire. Soon they had a merry crackle of flame at the foot of a large fi-tree and they sat round it for a while, until they began to nod. Then, each in an angle of the great tree's roots, they curled up in their cloaks and blankets, and were soon fast asleep. They set no watch; Harry, though, kept an eye out for most of the night until he drifted off. A few creatures came and looked at them when the fire had died away, scared off later on by Harry's shooing. A fox came along to look, Harry got rid of it, but not without the fox giving him a weird look. Harry decided to ignore the intelligent fox.

The morning came, pale and clammy. Frodo woke up first, and found that a tree-root had made a hole in his back, and that his neck was stiff.

"Wake up, you lot!" he cried. "It's a beautiful morning."

"What's beautiful about it?" said Pippin, peering over the edge of his blanket with one eye. "Sam! Get breakfast ready for half-past nine! Have you got the bath-water hot?"

Sam jumped up, looking rather bleary. "No, sir, I haven't, sir!" he said, stumbling. He soon realized his servant-work was not to be required at this moment.

Frodo rolled his eyes and stripped the blankets from Pippin and rolled him over, and then walked off to the edge of the wood. Harry, who had woken as soon as Frodo first spoke, shook his head before turning over with his blanket to go back to sleep. The hobbits let him as they continued to get the fire about. Frodo did shake him back awake to join them at the stream to fill the bottles of water as well as their kettle.

"I could expand them on the inside?" Harry suggested, but Frodo shook his head.

"We must not burden the chance that you could be discovered a wizard, Harry," reminded the hobbit before they trotted back. When their breakfast was over, and their packs all trussed up again (thankfully light), it was after ten o'clock, and the day was beginning to turn fine and hot. They went down the slope, and across the stream where it dived under the road, and up the next slope, and up and down another shoulder of the hills; and though time passed, thanks to Harry's spell, they did not tire as easily as they would have with heavy packs.

The day's march promised to be warm and tiring work, even with the weightless packs. After some miles, however, the road ceased to roll up and down: it climbed to the top of a steep bank in a weary zig-zagging sort of way, and then prepared to go down for the last time. In front of them they saw the lower lands dotted with small clumps of trees that melted away in the distance to a brown woodland haze. They were looking across the Woody End towards the Brandywine River.

The road wound away before them like a piece of string.

"The road goes on forever," said Pippin; "but I can't without a rest. It is high time for lunch." He sat down on the bank at the side of the road and looked away east into the haze, beyond which lay the River, and the end of the Shire in which he had spent all his life. Sam stood by him. His round eyes were wide open- for he was looking across lands he had never seen to a new horizon.

"Do Elves live in those woods?" he asked.

"Not that I ever heard," said Pippin. Frodo was silent. He too was gazing eastward along the road, as if he had never seen it before. Suddenly he spoke, aloud but as if to himself, saying slowly.

_The Road goes ever on and on_

_Down from the door where it began._

_Now far ahead the Road has gone,_

_And I must follow, if I can,_

_Pursuing it with weary feet,_

_Until it joins some larger way,_

_Where many paths and errands meet._

_And whither then? I cannot say. (5)_

"That sounds like a bit of old Bilbo's rhyming," said Pippin. "Or is it one of your imitations? It does not sound altogether encouraging." Harry had to agree, wondering if songs and poems were how hobbits amused themselves. Frodo had hummed a few in his time staying with the hobbit at Bag End.

"I don't know," said Frodo. "It came to me then, as if I was making it up; but I may have heard it long ago. Certainly it reminds me very much of Bilbo in the last years, before he went away. He used often to say there was only one Road; that it was like a great river: its springs were at every doorstep, and every path was its tributary. _'It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door,'_ he used to say. _'You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to. Do you realize that this is the very path that goes through Mirkwood, and that if you let it, it might take you to the Lonely Mountain or even further and to worse places?' _He used to say that on the path outside the front door at Bag End, especially after he had been out for a long walk."

"Well, the Road won't sweep me anywhere for an hour at least," said Pippin, unslinging his pack. The others followed his example, putting their packs against the bank and their legs out into the road. After a rest they had a good lunch, and then more rest.

The sun was beginning to get low and the light of afternoon was on the land as they went down the hill. So far they had not met a soul on the road.

This way was not much used, being hardly fit for carts, and there was little traffic to the Woody End. They had been jogging along again for an hour or more when Sam stopped a moment as if listening. They were now on level ground, and the road after much winding lay straight ahead through grass-land sprinkled with tall trees, outliers of the approaching woods.

"I can hear a pony or a horse coming along the road behind," said Sam. They looked back, but the turn of the road prevented them from seeing far. "I wonder if that is Gandalf coming after us," said Frodo; but even as he said it, Harry had a feeling that it was not so. He was proven that his feeling was shared when Frodo looked for a hiding place.

"It may not matter much," Frodo said apologetically, "but I would rather not be seen on the road – by anyone. I am sick of my doings being noticed and discussed. And if it is Gandalf," he added as an afterthought, "we can give him a little surprise, to pay him out for being so late. Let's get out of sight!"

The other two ran quickly to the left and down into a little hollow not far from the road. There they lay flat. The sound of hoofs drew nearer. Just in time, Harry saw Frodo throw himself down in a patch of long grass behind a tree that overshadowed the road. Then he lifted his head and peered cautiously above one of the great roots.

Round the corner came a black horse, no small pony but a full-sized horse; and on it sat a large man, who seemed to crouch in the saddle, wrapped in a great black cloak and hood, so that only his boots in the high stirrups showed below; his face was shadowed and invisible.

When it reached the tree and was level with Frodo the horse stopped. The riding figure sat quite still with its head bowed, as if listening. From inside the hood came a noise as if someone were sniffing to catch an elusive scent; the head turned from side to side of the road. The rider shook the reins before trotting off ahead.

Harry turned his head in time to see Frodo crawl to the edge of the road, perhaps to watch the rider leave.

Pippin and Sam remained flat in the grass, Harry seated beside Frodo, as the ring-bearing Hobbit described the rider and of the rider's behavior.

"I can't say why, but I felt certain he was looking or _smelling_ for me; and I also felt certain that I did not want him to discover me. I've never seen or felt anything like in the Shire before."

"But what has one of the Big People got to do with us?" said Pippin. "And what is he doing in this part of the world?"

"There are some Men about," said Frodo. "Down in the Southfarthing they have had trouble with Big People, I believe. But I have never heard of anything like this rider. I wonder where he comes from."

"Begging your pardon," put in Sam suddenly, "I know where he comes from. It's from Hobbiton that this here black rider comes, unless there's more than one. And I know where he's going to."

"What do you mean?" said Frodo sharply, looking at him in astonishment. Harry wondered where this was going.

"Why didn't you speak up before?"

"I have only just remembered, sir. It was like this: when I got back to our hole yesterday evening with the key, my dad, he says to me…"

Harry listened as Sam talked about the rider inquiring of Frodo's location, a feeling of dread in his stomach. So these riders, there were after Frodo and the ring after all.

"…We ought to do a good step more today. Buckland is still miles away. Harry, all is well?"

"Hmm…? Yes, all is well," Harry answered, glancing up to see the hobbits ready to leave once more. They set out again, only a bit from the road. The new path gave them the disadvantage of thick grass and uneven ground, making the walk much harder to manage.

Twilight was about them as they crept back to the lane, feeling safer in the mid-sunlight. The hobbits began to hum a walking-song of sorts, making Harry curious of their lyrics. Frodo explained absently that Bilbo had made the words, to an older tune long ago when he took his own adventure.

_Upon the hearth the fire is red,_

_Beneath the roof there is a bed;_

_But not yet weary are our feet,_

_Still round the corner we may meet_

_A sudden tree or standing stone_

_That none have seen but we alone._

_Tree and flower and leaf and grass,_

_Let them pass! Let them pass!_

_Hill and water under sky,_

_Pass them by! Pass them by!_

_Still round the corner there may way_

_A new road or a secret gate,_

_And though we pass them by today,_

_Tomorrow we may come this way_

_And take the hidden paths that run_

_Towards the Moon or to the Sun._

_Apple, thorn, and nut and sloe,_

_Let them go! Let them go!_

_Sand and stone and pool and dell,_

_Fare you well! Fare you well!_

_Home is behind, the world ahead, _

_And there are many paths to tread_

_Through shadows to the edge of night,_

_Until the stars are all alight._

_Then world behind and home ahead,_

_We'll wonder back to home and bed. _

_Mist and twilight, cloud and shade,_

_Away shall fade! Away shall fade!_

_Fire and lamps, and meat and bread,_

_And then to bed! And then to bed! (6)_

"And now to bed! And now to bed!" sang Pippin a high voice.

"You hobbits have the strangest songs," Harry commented just as Frodo started to hush them. The group halted where they were and stood silent, listening. Harry could faintly pick up the sound of hoofs, but slower and clear down the wind. They immediately went off to hide once more, with Frodo warning them not to plow too far from the road. The hoofs drew nearer just as they were hiding under the tree. Sam and Pippin chose behind a large tree-bole, while Frodo crept back a few yards towards the lane. Harry followed the hobbit closely enough so he could see. He could just make out something dark pass the lighter space between two trees before halting. There was the sound of snuffling, before the shadow bent to the ground and crawl towards the two of them.

Harry turned to beckon Frodo back only to see him groping the ring's keeping place. He reached to stop the hobbit when they were broken off through the laughter and song. Harry breathed in relief when Frodo withdrew his hand before they met back up with the other two. Sam tried to make a break for the Elves, if not for their quick reflexes stopping him via pulling the boisterous and star-struck hobbit back. Harry quietly laughed at Sam's reaction to the Elves.

"What about the Elves?" said Sam, too excited to trouble about the rider. "Can't we go and see them?"

"Listen! They are coming this way," said Frodo. "We have only to wait."

Wait they did little of, for the singing drew nearer. One clear voice rose now above the others. It was singing in a foreign language, one Harry couldn't comprehend. However, the sound blending with the melody seemed to shape itself in their thoughts into words which they only partly understood. Harry gave seldom thought to the lyrics, and just relaxed with the tune.

"These are High Elves! They spoke the name of Elbereth!" said Frodo, clearly amazed, "Few of that fairest folk are ever seen in the Shire. Not many now remain in Middle-earth, east of the Great Sea. This is indeed a strange chance!"

The hobbits and Harry sat in shadow by the wayside. Before long the Elves came down the lane towards the valley. They passed slowly, and the hobbits could see the starlight glimmering on their hair and in their eyes. They bore no lights, yet as they walked a shimmer, like the light of the moon above the rim of the hills before it rises, seemed to fall about their feet. They were now silent, and as the last Elf passed he turned and looked towards the hobbits and laughed.

"Hail, Frodo!" he cried. "You are abroad late. Or are you perhaps lost?" Then he called aloud to the others and all the company stopped and gathered round.

"This is indeed wonderful!" they said. "Four hobbits in a wood at night! We have not seen such a thing since Bilbo went away. What is the meaning of it?"

"Four hobbits?" Harry asked with a strange look before comprehension dawned that he was hidden partially in shadow, and that his height near them might confuse his being as a hobbit. He glanced at the Elves who looked toward him, realizing his error in speaking aloud. It might have been better had he said he was indeed a hobbit.

One of the Elves looked closer, gasping as he realized he stared into the eyes of a child, not a hobbit. He opened his mouth to speak, only to have Frodo interrupt.

"The meaning of it, fair people," said Frodo, "is simply that we seem to be going the same way as you are. I like walking under the stars. But I would welcome your company." The Elves responded with laughter, only partially forgetting the child, before Frodo managed to get their leader's name from them. Harry repeated the name back to himself in his head. Gildor Inglorion of the House of Finrod. What a mouthful. But they came from Rivendell, which was where he must go to possibly return home, and where Frodo would be headed.

Frodo and the Elves talked of the Black Riders, lulling Harry with the conversation that came forth. He did his best to listen, but exhaustion crept into him and he rubbed at his eyes tiredly. Gildor glanced at the tired lad and turned to speak to his kindred folk in their native tongue. Finally, he turned back.

"We will not speak of this here," he said. "We think you had best come now with us. The child you bring with is weary. It is not our custom, but for this time we will take you on our road, and you shall lodge with us tonight, if you will."

"Of Fair Folk! This is good fortune beyond my hope," said Pippin. Sam was speechless, too much in awe. Frodo, meanwhile, bowed and thanked Gildor for his hospitality. Harry rubbed at his eyes, unable to say anything except emitting yawns. His body was worn from the constant days travel at any rate, and he hoped not to have to walk just yet.

He nearly groaned when Gildor spoke of crossing the woods on the hills above some place named Woodhall. Another set of miles, he knew. He staggered to his feet and reached out to balance himself, his hand pushing against Frodo who steadied his companion.

"Weary already, I see," laughed Frodo.

"I did not realize until I sat," Harry mumbled. Gildor sidled up to them as they began walking. He studied the child and Harry looked at him in return, stifling his yawns.

"Will you allow me to carry you, young one? You seem too weary to continue walking," Gildor requested, a small smile gracing his lips that Harry had rarely seen directed at him. Mrs. Weasley was the most likely to give him that face, as would Sirius, but if anyone else did he couldn't recall. He considered the matter before taking a leap of faith in his decision –he nodded at the Elf.

Gildor knelt down and slid his elegantly long arms towards Harry. Gentle, yet firm, hands cupped his armpits and lifted him clean into the air with little struggle. Harry tensed slightly before settling as he was seated on the Elf's hip for comfort. His smaller arms draped across Gildor's broad shoulders. His legs dangled, inclined towards the Elf's waist as he yawned once more.

"At ease?" the Elf asked. Harry nodded, letting his head fall against Gildor's shoulder and his emerald green eyes fluttered close. The rocking of Gildor's walking soothed him and he soon found himself drifting off every now and then. He would wake to hear snippets of conversation, but otherwise moved very little in their walk.

After a long while, Harry awoke slightly to notice he was being set upon a soft bed. He shifted, turning his head, to find himself facing another Elf. 'When had he been passed to him?' he wondered drowsily. The Elf noticed his wakening and smiled gently, a look similar to the one directed at him earlier. Harry rubbed at his eyes.

"Sleep, child. You need not to wake upon this eve," soothed the musical voice. Harry decided that sleep seemed of the essence and nodded, his eyes fluttering close once more. He had no dreams that night.

* * *

**Footnotes:**

1) **Setting is a time skip, or beginning of the setting for me in this story. There are quite a handful of them, but I thought them better than lines or line breaks somewhere. Those tend to bore me anyways. **

2) **This can be found in Chapter two of The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkein. A simple quotation of the Elf-lore spoke about the ring. **

3) **Harry is still 17 years of age, but his body has become similar to what you can imagine an Elfling. He will only grow for every four years. So that when he is 20, he will look five. I know, that makes no sense whatsoever, but I felt it more prudent to pull this than to give him an age at random.**

4) _**Pondor**_** – The Latin translation of weightless. I decided to incorporate Harry's magic into this because honestly, it's a crossover. Not just Harry in Lord of the Rings like I did before. **

5) **This can be found in Chapter three of The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkein. The saying from Frodo.**

6) **Same as Footnote 5. **

**Author's Note: ****I had a lot of fun this time around, trying to incorporate different elements that you never saw before with Ring Child's original version, nor Emerald Istar. I tried this attempt with a lot more knowledge of Lord of the Rings than I had before. Several rereading and rewriting had to take place in this case for me to finally be satisfied with the prologue that would now set the tone for a grander story. I was roughly 15, maybe 16, when I wrote the first version perhaps? I am currently 20, not that this changes things, but two years of college under my belt has certainly brought my grammar to evolve. Happy readings this time around! While this was meant to be posted in February earlier this year, I ran into a lot of problems and eventually lost the flash drive that carried all of my writing for this fanfiction on. I've recovered it and everything is back on track. I will probably only update once a month or every other month. That will depend on if real life tries to pull me away again! Happy Reading everyone.**


	2. The Journey Unknown

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter. J.R.R Tolkein owns LOTR and J.K. Rowling owns HP. I am merely the original fanfiction author to the formerly popular story, _Ring Child_ (HPxLOTR). Should you recognize passages from either HP or LOTR, then simply refer it to yourself as an excerpt from either literary work. I will occasionally be using Tolkein's work almost word for word in some areas so that the wondrous descriptions and talk he gave in his writing is not muddied up by my attempts. This is not for monetary value nor anything other than entertainment to a fanfiction world. So do not judge on the basis of recognizing Tolkein's words. I do not claim them as mine.

**Warnings: **There is the occasional **swearing** and **violence** to be mentioned in this story, but the fluff should more than outweigh this tidbit. The more major warning is that both stories are heavily **spoiled** by this story, as I have read both of them to the best of my abilities. Therefore, do not waste your time criticizing my lack of information mentioned or not mentioned. I was not a terribly immediate fan of the Lord of the Rings series, but I do like the books and movies nonetheless.

Chapter Two "**The Journey Unknown**"

* * *

**Setting (1): **The Path to BuckleBerry. September of 3018

The sun rose in greeting to the travelling group, rising Harry from his slumber. Giving himself a few moments to fully wake up, he heard the familiar voices of two particular hobbits. He rubbed at his eyes and blinked blearily in the direction that they were coming from.

"Good morning Harry!" Pippin said immediately, halting in anything he might have been saying to one Samwise Gamgee. The two hobbits were nestled on the grass by a crackling fire, fruits and bread tucked neatly in a makeshift basket of a sorts. Harry had the idle thought that this might be what real camping was like, without magical tents that became houses inside and wands that conjured rocks into plates.

"Morning," Harry yawned, bringing a hand up to scratch at his black locks while he sat up. "Where's Frodo?" The hobbit wasn't anywhere he could see directly, nor were the elves he remembered meeting last night.

"Still asleep, the lazy hobbit," Pippin snorted before trotting over to a lump lying in a bower with a bed of fern and grass. No sooner had he begun to head towards the supposed sleeping hobbit, did Frodo awake and give Pippin an unimpressed expression.

"They have left us fruit and drink, and bread," said Pippin. "Come and have your breakfast. The bread tastes almost as good as it did last night. I did not want to leave you any, nor Harry any, but Sam insisted."

"Very unwise to let a child starve, Pippin," Sam scolded, handing Harry breakfast as Frodo sat down to eat. Pippin gave off a childish grin. Harry nibbled on the bread and was surprised that it tasted very well made.

"What is the plan for today?" asked Pippin.

"To walk to Bucklebury as quickly as possible," answered Frodo, and continued eating. Harry did the same and found himself full after eating half of his meal. He pushed it aside where Sam scooped it up for him.

"Full already?" Sam asked, unsurprised. The child-sized wizard had neglected larger meals that the hobbits had cooked and lavished him with time and time again, to their disappointment. Harry had laughed that they were the only creatures to enjoy food that much, and that his kind weren't even into meals as they were. In his small stature, Harry wasn't surprised that his appetite was similar to when he lived with the Dursleys.

"Yes, probably," said Frodo with a shudder. "But I hope to get across the river without their seeing us."

"Did you find out anything about them from Gildor?"

"Gildor?" Harry asked, eyebrows arched before he shook his head. "Right, right. Now I remember. Sorry, I was very tired last night."

"That you were, Harry. Tuckered out enough that the elves merrily carried you as you slumbered," hummed Frodo before answering. "Not much – only hints and riddles." Something about his tone sounded off. "Now leave me in peace for a bit. I don't want to answer a string of questions while I am eating. I want to think!"

"Good heavens!" said Pippin. "At breakfast?" Voice laced with a joking tone mixed with indignity, Pippin walked away towards the edge of the green. Sam finished up clearing away their belongings while glancing at Frodo every now and then. Harry got up to see what Pippin was up to when the hobbit started running on the green turf and singing.

"Come join in the fun, dear lad," Pippin sang in a merry voice. Harry laughed and shook his head, reminded of Fred and George during their moments of mischief. Pippin did not look very discouraged, however, and continued to chime along to his own tune as he waltzed. Harry's eye caught movement and he turned to spy Frodo turning towards Sam.

"Well, Sam!" Frodo said. "What about it? I am leaving the Shire as soon as ever I can – in fact I have made up my mind now not even to wait a day at Crickhollow, if it can be helped."

"Very good, sir!" Harry wondered how Sam could sound so much like a lost puppy, the way he eagerly replied and yipped at Frodo's voice.

"You still mean to come with me?" Frodo adopted a surprised look that Harry could sympathize with.

"I do." Harry caught Frodo's eye at Sam's proclamation, the formerly famous wizard shrugging his shoulders. This was all Frodo's adventure. Harry was just along for the ride in his own opinion. Doing this for Gandalf was part of the deal he'd made with the Istar.

"Yes… Although it is going to be very dangerous. It is already dangerous. Most likely we shall never come back. I wouldn't allow Harry to join me, but alas Gandalf had taken me to matters on that issue, with such explanations that were almost as bad as the elves." Harry had to allow a grin to slip upon his face at that. Gandalf had chipped away at all of Frodo's arguments against bringing a child until the hobbit had been left flustering and spluttering in annoyance. "Most likely we shan't come back."

"If you don't come back, sir, then I shan't, that's certain," said Sam before adopting a different tone. "_Don't you leave him!_ They said to me. _Leave him! _I said. _I never mean to. I am going with him, if he climbs to the Moon, and if any of those Black Riders try to stop him, they'll have Sam Gamgee to reckon with, _I said. They laughed."

"Who are _they,_ and what are you talking about?"

"The Elves, sir. We had some talk last night; and they seemed to know you were going away, so I didn't see the use of denying it. Wonderful folk, Elves, sir! Wonderful! Have you any Elves where came you, Harry?"

"Oh, yes… Only they're called house elves." Caught off guard, Harry answered honestly.

"House elves?" echoed Sam, bewilderment on his face. Harry nodded.

"They cleaned up and cooked for their masters, bound by magic to wizards and witches." Harry cringed as he remembered Hermione's long rants and lectures about such terrible culture house elves suffered through. Dobby had liked to clean, even when free, however. So not all house elves were opposed to the slavery condition they were put in.

"Do you feel any need to leave the Shire now – now that your wish to see the Elves has come true already?" Frodo asked before Sam could comment any further.

"Yes sir," Sam nodded. "I don't know how to say it, but after last night I feel different. I seem to see ahead, in a kind of way. I know we are going to take a very long road, into darkness; but I know I can't turn back. It isn't to see Elves now, nor dragons, nor mountains, that I want – I don't rightly know what I want; but I have something to do before the end, and it lies ahead, not in the Shire. I must see it through, sir, if you understand me."

"I don't altogether. But I understand that Gandalf chose me a good companion. Well two good companions. I am content. We will go together. The three of us." Frodo finished his breakfast as he said as such. Harry looked away and turned his gaze back to the cheerfully chirping Pippin. The three of them. Much like Hermione, Ron, and he.

Frodo stood up and called to Pippin to join them.

"All ready to start?" he said as Pippin ran up. "We must be getting off at once. We slept late; and there are a good many miles to go."

"_You_ slept late, you mean," Pippin accused with a grin. "I was up long before; and we were only waiting for you to finish eating and thinking."

"I have finished both now. And I am going to make for Bucklebury Ferry as quickly as possible. I am not going out of the way, back to the road we left last night: I am going to cut straight across country from here."

"Then you are going to fly, or have Harry somehow teleport you," said Pippin. "You won't cut straight on foot anywhere in this country."

"We can cut straighter than the road anyway," answered Frodo. "The Ferry is east from Woodhall; but the hard road curves away to the left –you can see a bend of it away north over there. It goes round the north end of the Marish so as to strike the causeway from the Bridge above Stock. But that is miles out of the way. We could save a quarter of the distance if we made a line for the Ferry from where we stand."

"_Short cuts make long delays,_" argued Pippin. "The country is rough round here, and there are bogs and all kinds of difficulties down in the Marish –I know the land in these parts. And if you are worrying about Black Riders, I can't see that it is any worse meeting them on a road than in a wood or a field."

"It is less easy to find people in the woods and fields," answered Frodo. "And if you are supposed to be on the road, there is some chance that you will be looked for on the road and not off it."

"All right!" said Pippin, tossing his hands up into the air. "I will follow you into every bog and ditch. But it is hard! I had counted on passing the _Golden Perch_ at Stock before sundown. The best beer in the Eastfarthing, or used to be: it is a long time since I tasted it." Harry snorted. Of course the hobbit would be desiring alcohol. That seemed to be one of their obsessions besides food, he noted.

"That settles it!" said Frodo. "Short cuts make delays, but inns make longer ones. At all costs we must keep you away from the _Golden Perch_. We want to get to Bucklebury before dark. What do you say, Sam? Harry?"

"I will go along with you, Mr. Frodo," said Sam. Harry nodded in his agreement.

"Then if we are going to toil through bog and briar, let's go now!" said Pippin.

It was already warming up; but rain was foreboding upon the clouds that began to cover from the West. Harry hoped it wasn't about to rain. He had no desire to be soaked to the bone here. Although a drying charm might allow for that problem to be solved, he supposed. It would leave him exhausted, however.

The hobbits and wizard scrambled down a steep green bank and plunged into the thick trees below. Their course had been chosen to leave Woodhall to their left, and to cut slanting through the woods that clustered along the eastern side of the hills, until they reached the flats beyond. Straight for the Ferry afterwards.

They were soon at an undergrowth with no visible path, a stream running down from the hills behind in a dug bed. They halted, unable to jump over a wide stream or cross at all without getting wet, scratched, and muddy.

"First check!" said Pippin, smiling grimly.

"Look!" Sam said, clutching Frodo by the arm. Harry tuned and spotted on the edge quite a distance above them was a horse standing against the sky. Beside it stooped a black figure. Harry realized just how close they would have come to being found out again. Bugger… Frodo began to head quickly into the thick bushes, the others following him. There was no turning back now.

* * *

**Setting: **Brandy Hall, of the Brandybucks.

"Look back, Mr. Frodo! Do you see anything?"

On the far stage, under the distant lamps, the hobbits and Harry could just make out a figure: it looked like a dark black bundle left behind. But as they looked it seemed to move and sway this way and that, as if searching the ground.

"What in the Shire is that?" exclaimed Merry, who had joined them on their journey some short hours ago on the way to the Ferry after they had lost sight of the other rider. (1)

"Something that is following us," said Frodo abruptly. "But don't ask any more now! Let's get away at once!" As they hurried up the path to the top of the bank, Harry lingered in the back, hand itching for his staff, though he longed for a small wand that he could slip into the sleeves of his shirt again. For now, his magical item rest neatly in his pack that was still light thanks to his earlier spell-casting.

The figure disappeared from sight in part to the mist and Harry heaved a sigh of relief, grateful the thing hadn't spotted and pursued them. While he had his magic, it wasn't as effective with how little he could actually cast in his small body.

"Thank goodness you don't keep any boats on the west-bank!" said Frodo as he shook his head.

"Can horses cross the river?"

"They can go twenty miles north to Brandywine Bridge – or they might swim," answered Merry. "Though I never heard of any horse swimming the Brandywine. But what have horses to do with it?"

"I'll tell you later. Let's get indoors and then we can talk."

"All right! You and Pippin know your way; so I'll just ride on and tell Fatty Bolger that you are coming. We'll see about supper and things."

"We had our supper early with Farmer Maggot," said Frodo, "but we could do with another." Harry snorted at this.

"Hobbits and their appetite," Harry said with a small grin as the hobbits turned to him. Merry gave him a friendly, agreeing smile, before turning back.

"You shall have it! Off I go, if you shall hand over the basket!" said Merry, and he rode ahead into the darkness. Harry shook his head at their antics before following Frodo, Pippin, and Sam off towards Crickhollow, where Frodo's new home would be located.

At last Frodo stopped in front of a narrow gate nearly hidden by a thick hedge. There were no other homes near this house either: it stood back from the lane plotted in the middle of land that was surrounded by a belt of low trees. Harry was reminded of the faraway home of the Weasley residence, where land stretched out for quite a while before they could access their own neighbors.

The round windows and large round door reminded Harry of a barrel as he gazed at the hobbit-hole. Walking up the dark pathway, Frodo reached the door before them and knocked, and Fatty Bolger opened it.

The wide hall that they found themselves in reminded Harry much of Frodo's home in Bag End of the Shire.

"Well, what do you think of it?" asked Merry coming up the passage. "We have done our best in a short time to make it look like home. After all Fatty and I only got here with the last cart-load yesterday." Harry gazed at some of the things he'd looked at while in the Shire, smiling at how much of an effort the hobbits had gone to help Frodo. Hermione and Ron would have done the same thing in this situation, he knew. Or rather, they would have accompanied him like Pippin and Sam had done. Mrs. Weasley might have been the one to pack up everything and arrange it for him, now that he thought about it.

"It's delightful!" Frodo said, sounding strained. "I hardly feel that I have moved at all."

Harry didn't immediately remove his cloak, or set down his pack as the others did. He heard them follow Merry down a passage and he took this time to make sure Fatty wasn't in his vicinity before pulling out his staff.

The magical item reached from the tips of his fingers to his elbow in length, a darkening brown wood that shined in the right kind of lighting. Turning it in his grasp, the small-sized wizard held it before him and tried to recall some of the spells Hermione had used during their travels for the Horcruxes. His magic worked here, oddly enough, but it felt like it was being pulled through a very small tunnel that it could barely fit, leaving him panting after the first warning spell left the tip of his staff. He had to stop, sighing. At least he'd be alerted if someone stepped foot near the gate, but that'd be it as far as spells went it seemed.

Deciding he'd try again later tonight, Harry headed into the kitchen where Merry and Fatty were preparing the last pieces of their supper, the sound of Pippin bickering with Frodo and Sam playfully as they were clearly bathing out of sight.

"You'll be able to clean up after those three get done with their childish fun," Merry said kindly. Harry offered him a smile in return, pulling himself onto one of the chairs while the voice of Pippin flooded the room from the bathing chambers.

_Sing hey! For the bath at close of day_

_That washes the weary mud away!_

_A loon is he that will not sing:_

_O! Water Hot is a noble thing!_

_O! Sweet is the sound of falling rain,_

_And the brook that leaps from hill to plain;_

_But better than rain or rippling streams_

_Is Water Hot that smokes and steams._

_O! Water cold we may pour at need_

_Down a thirsty throat and be glad indeed;_

_But better is Beer, if drank we lack,_

_And Water Hot poured down the back._

_O! Water is fair that leaps on high_

_In a fountain white beneath the sky;_

_But never did fountain sound so sweet_

_As splashing Hot Water with my feet! (2)_

Harry shook his head at the sound of a large splashing and an exclamation from Frodo. They were quite entertaining in their ways, he had to admit. Frodo reappeared in the kitchen with a fresh towel over his head, his hands drying at his hair.

"There's so much water in the air that I'm coming into the kitchen to finish," he said as he walked towards Harry. "If you wish to wade your way through Pippin's disaster, then by all means have at the attempt, Harry."

"I'll pass," Harry said, shaking his head.

"You would do well with a bath before the next journey, at any rate," Frodo argued quietly. Harry thought about it and sighed in consent. Hopping out of his seat, he made his way into the bathroom where Pippin was finishing up cleaning the room at Merry's demand.

"We will wait for you to finish, Harry," Merry said.

"No need. I might be a bit, so eat before me, please," Harry told the hobbit who gave him a look before nodding. Harry tugged his cloak off his person before slipping into the bath. He honestly preferred a nice shower, but he knew by now that he wouldn't get such a thing in this place.

The water was pleasantly warm and soothing, he found. Soaking in the tub for a bit, he could vaguely hear the chattering hobbits as his head rested against the edge, a small hand coming up to his face with a thoughtful frown marring his cherubic face as he spied the faint tendrils of words along the back of his hand. _I must not tell lies_ written on the pale hand. The hobbits hadn't seemed to have noticed some of the scars traced along his body, though this was in part because he'd never let them see anything underneath his clothing. They were ignorant of his turmoil, much likes the wizardry world had been. (3)

Would he ever return home?

Frodo and the others had been quite a welcoming change, he supposed, but he missed the place he'd made his home. However faulty the wizardry society could be, it was where he lived. The place his parents lived in as well…

Gandalf told him, if he followed Frodo along and protected him to Rivendell, he might be able to find a solution. Might being the keyword. He could hope, but he couldn't dream of it happening, he knew. Harry shook his head and finished washing before he climbed out of the tub and dried off.

Wet black hair stuck up pitifully as he toweled it dry, frowning in annoyance before he simply got dressed in fresh clothing provided by Merry. He supposed being among Hobbits was something to be appreciated, with his new size. He would fit in with his height, but the baby face wizard would stick out in features and the nice black shoes Harry had managed to conjure after about a week's stay in Middle Earth already.

"…I should think you were making it all up," Merry was saying as Harry stepped into the kitchen to take his own meal. The hobbits glanced over at him before returning to their story-telling, knowing he would tend to his food without assistance. After scooping a portion of green beans, potatoes, and some sort of main dish he was unaccustomed to, he grabbed an apple from the basket nearby. Taking a bite of his acquired apple, he turned his attention to them to listen, sitting in the kitchen while they discussed in an open room.

"Well!" said Frodo suddenly, causing Harry to blink as the burdened hobbit stood up and popped his back. "I can't keep it dark any longer. I have got something to tell you all. But I don't know quite how to begin."

"I think I could help you by telling you some of it myself," said Merry. Harry gave Merry a surprised look, coming to join them with the half-eaten apple in his hand. Sam shot him a disproving look for leaving his meal unattended, but said nothing. "You are miserable, because you don't know how to say good-bye. You meant to leave the Shire, of course. But danger has come on you sooner than you expected, and now you are making up your mind to go at once. And you don't want to. We are very sorry for you."

Harry couldn't help but laugh out loud at the look of surprise on Frodo's face, the others doing much the same to show their amusement. "He has a very good point, Frodo." Harry laughed. "You talked out loud about your worries quite often."

Frodo flustered. "Good heavens! Is all the Shire discussing my departure then?"

"Oh no! Don't worry about that! The secret won't keep for long, of course; but at present it is, I think, only known to us conspirators." Harry shook his head, musing to himself about a similar situation. Hermione and Ron had been afraid he'd leave without telling them, keeping an awfully close eye on him after Dumbledore's passing.

Dumbledore.

He wondered what his former mentor would have thought of all this; one next adventure. He knew Hermione would've been in complete ecstasy, seeing so many foreign histories and stories told and shared here. Ron would've probably gotten along fantastic with the hobbits and their constant mealtimes.

He'd like to think his best friends would have journeyed this odd and fantastical adventure with him, just as they had done during his school years.

Shaking his head, he finally turned his head from his thinking to listen to the last bit of the songs the hobbits were singing.

_We must away! We must away!_

_We ride before the break of day!_

"Gildor advised me not to wait. But I should very much like to see Gandalf. I could see that even Gildor was disturbed when he heard that Gandalf had never appeared. It really depends on two things. How soon could the Riders get to Bucklebury? And how soon could we get off? It will take a good deal of preparation."

Merry answered Frodo's question, revealing just how prepared he'd been in his conspiracy-filled thoughts. Harry smiled at the familiar scene. Only he'd remembered a bushy-haired female lecturing him on packing up for their horcrux trip.

"You remind me of Hermione," Harry absently said.

"What is a Hermy on ninny? I do not know whether I should be pleased or offended with your term, Harry," Merry asked, looking scandalized. Harry blinked.

"Ah… She was a friend of mine, always prepared for anything," he went on to explain, trying not to laugh at Merry's abashed look.

"I apologize. Your manner of speaking is something of a queer language in many ways," Merry said.

"As does yours," Harry countered.

"I have made up my mind," Frodo interrupted, shaking his head at their words. "I am starting tomorrow, as soon as it is light. But I mean to go off in a quite unexpected direction, through the Old Forest. Now let us rest up! We leave at quite an early moment in the day that you need to sleep well before us, Harry."

As he headed for one of the bedrooms at their insistence, Harry couldn't help but wonder if it would be anything like the Forbidden Forest, grimacing at the thought.

* * *

**Setting: **The Old Forest

Fatty Bolger stayed behind, waving them off as the four hobbits and one wizard stole quietly out of the house at half past four in the morning. Harry couldn't stop his yawning, nearly stumbling as he walked with them towards the ponies.

"Have you ridden a horse?" Merry asked the wizard child as they prepared to mount.

"I have ridden a creature called a thestral and it is much in the same manner I suppose," he answered, eying the pony he'd been given before he mounted it, grateful that he was travelling with the hobbits in his new size. He still didn't understand what deity had managed to catch him unawares, throw him into a world not his own, and shrink his body down to the same stature as when he was this small, but he was at least grateful he was currently in company where size did not matter.

"Good-bye, Frodo! Everyone!" he said. "I wish you were not going into the Forest. I only hope you will not need rescuing before the day is out. But good luck to you – today and every day!"

Harry tuned the conversation out, focusing on his pony as they made their way to a gate of iron bars. Merry unlocked the gate and allowed them passage before he closed it once more, following along. As the gate shut with a clang, Harry looked back at it, wondering just what adventure awaited the four hobbits and he.

Towards the wide hollow, Harry glanced around as they did, itching to hold onto his staff as they did. Gandalf had asked he not commit magic, but what was the point of having such an ability if they could not use it for helping purposes? He supposed Gandalf knew these lands better than he did, so he would trust the old wizard.

The trees were quite diverse, he noted as the rode on. All sorts going in different directions and colored with slight variations of brown, greens, and grey of growths and moss. Harry wrinkled his nose slightly, unused to the sights. They had to avoid quite a lot of roots that twisted into their path often, but they were otherwise moving at a steady enough pace.

Without warning, there was a sharp cry from the youngest hobbit. "Oi! Oi!" Pippin cried. "I am not going to do anything. Just let me pass through, will you!"

Harry jerked at the cry, looking over at the hobbit. The cry did not echo into the woods as he expected, and the feeling of being watched and surrounded grew. He narrowed his eyes, looking around.

"I should not shout, if I were you," Merry said. "It does more harm than good."

"Why do I feel paranoia here?" Harry asked.

"Para… what?" Frodo asked, blinking.

"How is that I feel as if I am surrounded and watched?" corrected Harry, shaking his head. Frodo gave him an apologetic look.

"The forest is alive, as many of them are," Merry answered for him. Harry nodded in understanding. It was a queer feeling, he supposed, to experience constant vigilance because of watching trees. Magic worked in such odd ways in this world.

"These trees _do_ shift. There is the Bonfire Glade! The path to it seems to have moved however!" Merry continued, pointing towards a particular spot.

They continued to travel, a fog growing quite deeply and trees constantly blocking their path. Harry felt as if he was confounded as they rode on, constantly wondering if they were going in the same direction or towards somewhere new.

Quite suddenly, Harry felt as if the gloom dispersed immediately. Sunlight beamed down as he spied a lazy river of brown water with willows spotting the area. Merry gave an exclamation of relief and it seemed he knew where they were, disappearing into the trail ahead and returning with news that a footpath could be found along the side of the river.

"I dare say!" said Pippin, annoyed. "That is, if the track goes on so far, and does not simply lead us into a bog and leave us there. Who made the track, do you suppose, and why? I am sure it was not for our benefit. Have you any idea how far eastward we should have to go?"

"No," admitted Merry, "I haven't. I don't know in the least how far down the Withywindle we are, or who could possibly come here often enough to make a path along it. But there is no other way out that I can see or think of."

That said, they filed out of the entrance of the sunlight and continued to ride. As they went on and on, getting hopelessly lost and tired, Harry's eyes caught sight of something and he parted from their group to examine the trees that the hobbits were ignoring. Brushing a hand against its bark, he felt as if they were rabid dogs, wary of these travelers and their business here.

Frowning, he decided best to withdraw his staff, curious as to what he could do. Gandalf had told him of elves, back when the wizard and he had discussions of their worlds, and he knew elves could talk to trees. Was it some sort of magic? Were trees a creature here?

As he was busy with the tree, he looked up and his stomach churned when he noted he could no longer see his companions. He turned his head left and right, finding nothing but nature surrounding him.

'_Bullocks_,' he swore as he turned the pony in different directions to find where they had gone. '_Nice going Harry… Lose your only way out of this barmy forest_.'

Giving up on his tree expedition, he roamed the forest with comprehension for what felt like an hour or two before the vague calling of an unfamiliar voice got his attention. His eyes widened and he strained to hear it better.

_Hey dol! Merry dol! Ring a gong dillo!_

Harry blinked and looked around for the voice, deciding to take a left. He looked down and nearly jumped for joy when he spotted hoof prints from the ponies his companions rode on. "Come on, pony," he murmured, giving it a tug to spur the creature into riding, the voice from earlier sounding only the slightest bit more clearer.

_Ring a dong! Hop along! Fal la the willow!_

_Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!_

Tom Bombadillo? Harry snorted at such a name before following the voice along, finding it clearer as he went forward. Squinting his eyes, emerald orbs spotted a figure dancing and hopping, wearing a hat of some sort with a feather sticking straight up.

"Help!" came Frodo's familiar voice. Harry sat up straighter and urged the pony onward, eventually arriving in time to see this Tom Bombadillo character seizing a foot from a giant willow tree and tugging the owner of the foot out. Out sprang Pippin and Merry, to Harry's astonishment. What had happened in the time he'd disappeared?

"Thank you!" said the hobbits, one after the other. They were practically bowing in gratitude towards this large man that looked five times their size.

The man burst out laughing for some reason, making the young wizard narrow his eyes, dropping off from the pony in favor of crouching closer without giving himself away. He knelt in the growing nestle of bushes near a willow tree, eying it idly to make sure it didn't eat him as the other one had done to his hobbit companions.

"Well, my little fellows!" said he, stooping so that he could look at the hobbits. "You shall come home with me!" The hobbits looked set to follow along, little else to stop them, when Frodo's head looked up suddenly. He looked worried.

"Wait!" burst out Frodo, looking around wildly. "Where is Harry?"

"Harry?" puzzled Tom, looking around as if he might spot a fifth hobbit that he'd failed to rescue. Harry debated on what he should do before he sighed and moved into their sight.

"Ah… Here I am, Frodo!" Harry called, knowing the hobbit would continue to search for him if he did not show himself. Tom gave him a wide smile, making Harry feel on edge, but at the same time relaxed. He came trotting over to the small boy and knelt down.

"A small child! How very different than finding four hobbits on their own! Why, look at you." Tom seemed to crow, leaning forward and instantly bringing his hands under Harry's arms to lift him clean into the air and situate him on his hip. Harry turned red on his warming cheeks and squirmed, trying to yank his body out of the man's arms.

"Unhand me!" He tried to protest, pushing his hands hard against the chest to get free.

"We've a long ways towards my home! No youngling could make such a journey on foot without dire need of rest," Tom said with a 'parental' tone of a sorts that irritated Harry. This man seemed to be doing it not for his convenience, but for Tom's entertainment. Harry groaned. If this man was any indication of how others, that were not hobbits, were going to treat him, he'd prefer to go back to Hobbiton.

As Tom took over in a leap and a sprint of laughter, Harry clung onto the man's top tightly. He looked down at the ground and wished he wasn't being carried, for he could clearly see a good ways down if he was dropped. A concussion didn't look too pleasant at this very moment.

Merlin he wished he was back at the Burrow by now.

* * *

**Footnotes:**

**1\. I skipped the tidbit about crossing the Farmer's area and meeting up with Merry there.**

**2\. Can be found in Chapter Five of LOTR.**

**3\. He has the scars of any he retained until the day he departed that world. This may or may not be explained later. Just as why and how he was shrunk may or may not be explained later.**

**Author's Note: The first chapter was so very long because it was my prologue of a sorts. So I'm sorry this one is half its length. This chapter had chapters four through six in them. You'll find very little changes in this chapter than the canon storyline because Harry's not meant to completely change everything. If he did that, we'd never know what else could change as a result! I may or may not skip Chapter Seven featuring Tom's house, but I might go towards Chapter 8. Let me know what scenes in particular you're very much wanting to see because if I find them unimportant, I might skip them entirely! See you next month! Lol**


	3. The Hidden King

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter. J.R.R Tolkein owns LOTR and J.K. Rowling owns HP. I am merely the original fanfiction author to the formerly popular story, _Ring Child_ (HPxLOTR). Should you recognize passages from either HP or LOTR, then simply refer it to yourself as an excerpt from either literary work. I will occasionally be using Tolkein's work almost word for word in some areas so that the wondrous descriptions and talk he gave in his writing is not muddied up by my attempts. This is not for monetary value nor anything other than entertainment to a fanfiction world. So do not judge on the basis of recognizing Tolkein's words. I do not claim them as mine.

**Warnings: **There is the occasional **swearing** and **violence** to be mentioned in this story, but the fluff should more than outweigh this tidbit. The more major warning is that both stories are heavily **spoiled** by this story, as I have read both of them to the best of my abilities. Therefore, do not waste your time criticizing my lack of information mentioned or not mentioned. I was not a terribly immediate fan of the Lord of the Rings series, but I do like the books and movies nonetheless.

Ring Child Rewrite Chapter Three "The Hidden King"

* * *

**Setting: **The Prancing Pony, September of 3018

The men of Bree, or the Big Folk, were brown-haired folk with a cheerful disposition. They got along well enough with hobbits, or the Little Folk as they were called here, and went about their lives peacefully with them. Bree was one of the older towns to both Big and Little Folk on Middle Earth. These hobbits were dubbed Outsiders from the Shire-hobbits, according to Frodo. Any hobbit not living near the Shire was called this name, apparently. But then… it worked both ways. The Shire-hobbits were no doubt called the same thing by the Bree-hobbits. Harry shook his head as he listened to the hobbit's small history lesson before they drew short at the Greenway-crossing near the village. He was slightly tired from their journeying, but alert enough to notice as many details as he could manage.

Trotting towards the shut West-gate, Harry squinted his eyes and spotted a man just beyond the door of the lodge nearby. He seemed to notice them and came sauntering towards them, rickety lantern swinging every which way as he peered down at them in surprise.

"What do you want, and where do you come from?" the middle-aged man grumbled out. Harry frowned at him.

"We are making for the inn here," answered Frodo. "We are journeying east and cannot go further tonight." The man peered closer to them and his eyes lit up in surprise at what he evidently found.

"Hobbits! Five hobbits! And what's more, out of the Shire by their talk," said the man, softly as if disbelieving and murmuring to himself. Frodo shot Harry a look, but the de-aged wizard shook his head. He wasn't having a repeat of Tom right now. Or ever, if he could help it. His companions caught on to what he was keeping hidden, and so didn't disrupt the man by pointing out his error.

"We don't often see Shire-folk riding on the road at night," he went on after allowing them passage through their gate. He had gazed at them darkly and then suspiciously as they passed them. "You'll pardon my wondering of what business takes you away east of Bree! What may your names be, might I ask?"

"Our names and our business are our own, and this does not seem a good place to discuss them," said Frodo, sounding wary and annoyed.

"Your business is your own, no doubt," said the man. "But it's my business to ask questions after nightfall."

That sounded like utter bull to Harry, but he said nothing. He recognized that Frodo should do the talking as it was his journey to make and he knew most of the speak of different folk in these parts, from what Gandalf told him around the beginning when he got to Middle Earth.

"We are hobbits from Buckland and we have a fancy to travel and to stay at the inn here," put in Merry, however. "I am Mr. Brandybuck. Is that enough for you? The Bree-folk used to be fair-spoken to travelers, or so I had heard."

"Alright, alright!" said the man, holding his hands up in a surrendering gesture. "I meant no offence. But you'll find maybe that more folk than old Harry at the gate will be asking you questions." Harry gave a slight start at hearing his name before realizing the man was not talking about him. "There's queer folk about. If you go on to The Pony, you'll find you're not the only guests."

The man left them to it and Harry looked around warily at that, seeing that though he stopped pestering them, he continued to watch as they rode onward. Eventually he turned around and fled back to his house by the gate, making Harry turn back to look forward.

They passed over a slope and away from a spattering of houses before arriving in front of an inn. Sam was expressing his discomfort about the inn, but Harry ignored them as he studied the building. It was pleasant enough in front of the road. On a signboard swinging above the door, nailed to an arch, was lettering in white next to a rearing fat white pony: THE PRANCING PONY by BARLIMAN BUTTERBUR. Music was coming inside and Harry gave their group a look before taking the lead on this one.

Getting off his pony, he led their small group up the steps and stepped right into a burly man with a balding head and red face. His white apron was spattered with either dirt or of a substance he was afraid to find out. Harry thankfully hadn't fallen down, but he'd garnered the man's attention.

"I dare say I apologize! Half a minute, if you please!" The man was quick to apologize and vanish into the babbling of voices and smoke. He was back with them shortly after, wiping his hands on the dirty apron.

"I apologize, little master, for the near bowling over!" he said, bending down to their height. "What may you be wanting?"

"Beds for five, and stabling for six ponies, if that can be managed. Are you Mr. Butterbur?" Frodo spoke for them. Harry figured if he were to speak he'd easily reveal that he was not a hobbit. He looked to the side from Butterbur and saw the many shadows of people roaming inside, laughing and chattering.

"That's right! Barliman is my name. Barliman Butterbur at your service! You're from the Shire, eh?" the man said, and then clapped his hand to his forehead as if realizing and recalling something of importance. "Hobbits! Now what does that remind me of? Might I ask your names, sir?"

"Mr. Took and Mr. Brandybuck," said Frodo, gesturing to Pipping and Merry. "And this is Sam Gamgee and… Mr. Potter. My name is Underhill." Harry gave Frodo a grateful name. Though if someone were to look closely, Potter didn't sound very much like a hobbit's family name, but at least Frodo remembered his last name.

Butterbur expressed that whatever it was plaguing him would come soon enough and muttered about his different guests and possible available rooms before he agreed to house them for the night. He called for someone named Nob, insulting him as he did, but eventually a cheery enough hobbit came trotting outside and stopped, looking at them all in interest. Harry avoided getting looked at in the face.

"Where's Bob?" asked Butterbur. Nob shrugged. "You don't know? Well find him! Double sharp! I haven't got six legs, nor six eyes neither!" Harry snorted as the man commanded Nob to tell Bob about their ponies and finding room. Butterbur began muttering thoughtfully about a party that had come up from Greenway and dwarves. It seemed their small stature gave them luck on receiving a room.

Harry followed the others down a passage before arriving inside a parlor before the middle-aged man trotted off. The room was small, but quite quaint with a burning fire and comfortable chairs that Pippin immediately took advantage of. Nob delivered a tray of plates shortly after, showing them their bed chambers while the supper was being made.

Harry quite liked their supper, dining on the blackberry tart in particular, and nibbling on the buttered loaf of bread. While the hobbits drank several mugs of beer, he opted for sipping at water. It got him a queer look from Butterbur and Nob, but he knew he already had a bad reaction to alcohol. While hobbits were very partial to alcohol, he wouldn't drink it just for their satisfaction. They were already suspicious with the fact he'd yet to remove his hood, but he knew they'd be a lot worst if they should discover a child of man was among the group of hobbits.

"I don't know whether you would care to join the company, when you have supped," said Butterbur roughly an hour or two later. "Perhaps you would rather go to your beds. Still the company would be very pleased to welcome you, if you had a mind. We don't get Outsiders – travelers from the Shire, I should say, begging your pardon – often; and we like to hear a bit of news, or any story or song you may have in mind. But as you please! Ring the bell, if you lack anything!"

Merry was the only one to remain in their quarters as Frodo, Pippin, Sam and he ventured out into the lobbying area. Harry adjusted his hood while only the hobbits were in the room with him and cast a spell to keep his hood obscuring his features, so that his face would be unseen.

Not before leaving the room, Merry gave them a reminder that they were here _in secret_. Pippin waved the reminder away and they headed to the common room. Harry split up from their little group to stay out of sight, eyes roaming curiously. There were people of different types that he could tell from his spot. Dwarves even! There were a handful of them over by Butterbur, all gulping down mugs of various liquids and guffawing at jokes. He saw several other hobbits and men before noticing shadowed figures in corners, perhaps doing the same thing that he was. He eyed the shadowed ones, but did nothing.

Harry had managed to slip into a shadowed area fast enough as there was a chorus of welcome to his hobbit companions. He caught several different names as they were introduced to the three hobbits. He had to admire Frodo's tale as he spun on about a book he was writing, which they all took to his lie with eagerness. They rambled on and on about histories and ancestries for several gloriously long minutes before returning to their questioning, seeing no evidence that Frodo was going to be writing a book in that split second, and pretty soon Frodo was left alone, though Sam and Pippin garnered quite a lot of attention with their cheerfulness to describe the Shire.

"You are not a hobbit, I dare say," came a lowly uttered voice and Harry turned around to see a weather-beaten man sitting against the wall just two feet from him, looking at him from the end of his long-stemmed pipe. His legs were stretched before him and he could see a very strong leather-type pair of boots on long legs. His face was overshadowed by his hood, much like his own was. Looking closer, he could spy smaller details, like the heavy dark-green cloak around his shoulders that seemed stained from many travels. He looked dangerous, but Harry didn't feel the instinct to curse him out or run.

"Who are you, to state such things?" Harry wished he hadn't left his staff upstairs, but it would have been obvious to continue carrying his pack. Oh if only he could have a wand and holster again! Perhaps he'd look into it.

"Who I am is a very vague question. If you were to ask me what I am, I can merely say I am human. A man. A Ranger of these lands. If you were asking about my name, I have many. Those in these parts call me Strider." His voice was rough, a deepening tone that spoke of a confidence and age. He threw back his hood, revealing shaggy dark hair that stopped at his neck in grey strands here and there, a pale face staring at him from behind green eyes. Harry reeled back for a split second before recovering. He'd almost thought it had been Sirius, but another look dispersed that sad wish.

"So?" continued this Strider before he could ask more. "I see that I must be correct. Though the Bree-folk have not noticed about you, you wear shoes and have a different stature. Your face is obstructed from view. You are a child. Of man perhaps, as you do not have a bulk of a structure to be a dwarf."

"…You are correct," Harry said at last. His eyes darting around to see if anyone was in the area to be listening in. He saw Frodo looking over at them, but he did not come over. A glance at Strider confirmed that he was looking at Frodo in return, but he did not move.

"Rather curious, that a child of man is in the companionship of hobbits," Strider commented, adjusting his position comfortably. Frodo eventually turned around and spotted Pippin getting a little too into the alcohol for comfort. Harry rather hoped he didn't do anything foolish. Pippin was spurting comments that would not bode well if he continued. Frodo looked over at Harry, but Harry simply inclined his head towards Pippin to indicate that should be his priority right now. Frodo nodded and walked over to the youngest of the hobbits.

"There is nothing to be curious about. I happened to have been travelling and came along," Harry only said, not giving anything away. He was irritated that his physical age was working against him, but he doubted this man was aware of just how young he appeared.

"Why would a child be alone?" countered Strider. "I have told you my name, will you not tell me yours?" Harry's eyes darted away at both questions. What was he supposed to say? There was no real valid excuse why a 'child' would be wandering alone. Perhaps he shouldn't have said anything.

"My business is mine and mine alone. As for my name," he hesitated. "Call me what you wish." Strider's head inclined, acknowledging both answers it seemed. Harry did not reveal his facial features, knowing Strider knew as well as he that a child's face in their midst would not be good. It would be too obvious what he was as soon as he moved the hood.

"Your companion, Master Underhill seems to have been smart to stay next to your other acquaintances," spoke Strider and Harry turned around to see Frodo was interrupting a near tipsy Peregrin Took from babbling any further about what sounded like Bilbo's farewell party that Frodo had once relayed to him.

Thankfully Frodo drew matters away with an account of a story he was writing, which Harry immediately picked up as one he'd told Frodo about one day back at the Shire. It was about the Basilisk from Slytherin's chamber of secrets.

They seemed amazed to hear of such a beast, and that a man had conquered the dragon-like creature only to be bitten himself. Frodo was, of course, fitting the story to sound as if it were to occur on Middle Earth, but he had to admire the hobbit's tale.

"A rather curious story he is telling. I should like a word with your companions and you. Especially with Master Baggins over there." Strider said off-handedly as he stood. Harry turned to him, alarmed.

"I'm afraid I have no companion by the name of Master Baggins," Harry said with a hard stare. Gandalf had told Frodo that his given name was not to be discovered. That this stranger knew it could indicate someone looking for the hobbit, for bad intentions maybe.

"Oh yes, I believe you do," answered Strider as he straightened. "I have a matter of some importance – to him and perhaps yourself. You may hear something to your advantage."

"Indeed?" Harry looked at the man with a raised eyebrow. He did not look towards Strider, focusing on Frodo who was now talking to Mr. Butterbur with a relieved smile etched on his face. "Then I say we have this talk with just the two of us before my companions join us."

* * *

**Setting: **The Parlour

Harry noted that Merry was not in the parlour when he returned, Strider casually walking beside him. He had not trusted the man behind his vision, so had merely stayed in step. It had been slightly difficult, being that he was much smaller than he used to be and therefore had very short legs.

Very little light shone in the room as they stepped inside. Harry stepped over to the fireplace to get light going.

"Now, what is it you were wanting," Harry asked once he'd done his best to get the fire going. Strider had offered his assistance but was flatly turned down. The fire had been tricky, but the wizard was used to his independence, especially since his size mattered not around already short creatures such as hobbits.

"I will tell Mr. Baggins what I know and give good advice – but I shall want a reward," the man said. Harry narrowed his eyes and was about to snap irritably when Frodo, Pippin, and Sam came stumbling in.

"Ah Harry! I wondered why you'd gone— Hallo! who are you?" Pippin exclaimed, eyes locked on the ranger. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Definitely Pippin for you. Always blurting out truth without realizing if there were others around who needn't have heard it.

"Harry, you say?" mused the stranger aloud before looking at the hobbits with amusement. "I am called Strider, and though you did not have forewarning to know this, your friend, Harry, promised to have a quiet talk with me and later Mr. Baggins there."

Frodo looked pale at his true name, but otherwise did not react. Harry kept a neutral face about him.

"Yet you claim to have such good information for him at the price of something. What are you wanting?" Harry interrupted. He didn't know why he was opting to speak for his travelling companions, but he didn't trust this bloke.

"Just this: you must take me along with you, until I wish to leave you." Strider finally answered.

"This deal would only merit if the information you provide is truly that worthy," Harry said

after looking at Frodo. The hobbit nodded his head at Harry, indicating he agreed.

"Excellent!" exclaimed Strider, crossing his legs and sitting back to get comfortable. He halted and opened and closed the door before returning and finally relaying that he'd eavesdropped on their group, hearing of Frodo warn them not to use Baggins in these lands. After Frodo reacted quite taken aback, he went on to assure that he had been in search of a Frodo Baggins and his companions in concerns to the secret. Harry knew the man was talking about the ring.

They continued to talk while Harry observed, not feeling any more need to step into the conversation. Strider had an air of a warrior, his pain real and his words riddled with experience.

"There!" Strider cried after a moment, sweeping at his brow. "Perhaps I know more about these pursuers than you do. You fear them, but you do not fear them enough, yet. Tomorrow you will have to escape, if you can. Strider can take you by paths that are seldom trodden. Will you have him?"

It reminded him of Dumbledore a bit, concerning Voldemort. Fear of the name only increased fear itself.

"Too much fear can be blinding," Harry said aloud before he realized what he was doing. Frodo gave him an odd look, Strider saying nothing, before Sam interrupted, giving a negative answer. They had a point. How could they trust Strider? Though certainly they'd trusted that barmy Tom Bombadil enough. They were at the point of tense atmosphere wafting through when a knock came at the door and Mr. Butterbur entered with candles in his grasp and Nob ladled with hot water. Harry watched as Strider stepped back, his dark features blending with the shadows.

Nob delivered the water to the rooms while the landlord revealed a rather troubling bit of news. Gandalf had asked him not three months ago to deliver a letter addressed to both Harry and Frodo. Butterbur had been busy enough he'd cast it from his mind and was only now recalling that he had it. He'd been given a description, one of them being that the group of hobbits from the shire would have one 'hobbit' hidden in view by a cloak at any cost, and wore shoes.

"Well?" said Strider once the man left. "When are you going to open that letter?" Frodo let Harry look it over before he broke the seal and the graceful script from the wizard could be seen. The two of them read it:

_THE PRANCING PONY, BREE._

_Midyear's Day, Shire Year, 3018._

_Dear Frodo and Harry,_

_Bad news has reached me here. I must go off at once. You two had better leave Bag End soon, and get out of the Shire before the end of July at latest. I will return as soon as I can; and I will follow you, if I find that you are gone. Leave a message for me here, if you pass through Bree. You can trust the landlord (Butterbur). You may meet a friend of mine on the Road: a Man, lean, dark, tall, by some called Strider. He knows our business and will help you. Make for Rivendell. There I hope we may meet again. If I do not come, Elrond will advise you. _

_Yours in haste_

_GANDALF._

_PS. Do NOT use IT again, for not any reason whatever! Do not travel by night!_

_PPS. Make sure that it is the real Strider. There are many strange men on the roads. His true name is Aragorn. _

_All that is gold does not glitter,_

_Not all those who wander are lost; _

_The old that is strong does not wither,_

_Deep roots are not reached by the frost._

_From the ashes a fire shall be woken, _

_A light from the shadows shall spring;_

_Renewed shall be blade that was broken,_

_The crownless again shall be king._

_PPPS. I hope Butterbur sends this promptly. A worthy man, but his memory is like a lumber-roam: thing wanted always buried. If he forgets, I shall roast him._

_Fare Well! (1)_

Harry resisted the urge to groan. Of course this would happen. This Aragorn knew Gandalf.

"Really old Butterbur has made a mess of things!" exclaimed Frodo. Harry couldn't agree more. "He deserves roasting. If I had got this at once, we might all have been safe in Rivendell by now. But what can have happened to Gandalf? He writes as if he was going into great danger."

"He has been doing that for many years," said Strider. Harry regarded him curiously at that. For how long had this man known the wizard? Why hadn't he said anything at first? Frodo seemed to be thinking along the same lines because he asked why the man hadn't mentioned Gandalf. Aragorn gave a good point in return, astonished that mentioning a single name and his relation would have earned such trust. Sam expressed his own mistrust and Harry was a little baffled how they could trust Tom Bombadill so but not this man. Perhaps because Tom had saved them?

Evidently Strider had not seen Gandalf since the first of May. Their conversation about Gandalf's whereabouts had to take a rest as Pippin yawned, wanting to find Merry and head for rest. It was as Pippin was standing up that Merry barreled into the room, Nob right behind him as he shut the door with a loud slam, breathing quite irregularly.

"Black Riders! I have seen them!" cried Merry. Frodo gave an alarmed look and Harry stood up quickly.

"Where?" Harry asked.

"Here. In the village. I stayed indoors for an hour. Then as you did not come back, I went out for a stroll. I had come back again and was standing just outside the light of the lamp looking at the stars. Suddenly I shivered and felt that something horrible was creeping near: there was a son of deeper shade among the shadows across the road, just beyond the edge of the lamplight. It slide away at once into the dark without a sound. There was no horse."

Strider questioned Merry and Nob quite sharply as Harry wandered over to the windows to look out, seeing no sign of the riders that had driven Frodo quite mad with fear.

They ended up sleeping in the parlour room, Nob having rigged a disguise in their sleeping quarters to reassure them. Harry opted to lay closest to the door, sitting up and watching silently while the hobbits talked. Strider was in a chair against the door, looking at Harry with a thoughtful look.

"You are a queer child," Strider commented. "Very quiet and very wary." Harry had to remind himself that queer here wasn't in the phrase of his sexuality.

"I have become what I must," Harry only answered.

"Indeed. I am quite curious as to your appearance." The hobbits were still chattering, but slowly drifting off, as Harry looked over at the man. Harry was still hidden by the cloak, having forgotten to remove it. Strider was still unveiled, his alikeness to Sirius Black unsettling at first glance, but the man his own when looked upon a second time.

Strider would be accompanying them to Rivendell, he was aware. Possibly further? Harry needed to lay at least a semblance of trust at the man's feet or they would have too many problems. With a sigh, Harry reached up and pulled back his hood, revealing a cherubic four year old's face with wide, bright emerald green eyes and ruffled jet black hair that stopped at the nape of his neck, a lightning bolt scar nestled on his forehead looking faint and closer to a birthmark than anything. He felt thankful he didn't need his glasses here, as he hadn't started wearing glasses until he was seven years old.

Strider gave Harry a surprised look.

"Interesting," he murmured. "You're but a babe. Four summers at most. Maybe five?"

Harry didn't acknowledge the man's musings. He was eighteen mentally, as he had celebrated his birthday here with Frodo at Bag End, but giving away his true age would be as revealing as saying he could do magic. He trusted Gandalf to at least know that people on Middle Earth would find him a bit freakish to look so young and cast magic like Gandalf.

"Your truest name is Aragorn?" Harry asked. "Why have you been presumed Strider?" Strider studied the boy for a minute or two before answering.

"It is but a name that I am called in these lands in particular." Strider merely responded. "Is Harry your truest name, little one?"

"It is." Harry said. He was a little curious as to why Strider deemed the need to call him little one, but he dismissed the thought. He was getting rather tired and he'd rather not think about it.

"Where has Gandalf found you and why do you travel with Frodo Baggins?" Strider asked, changing the subject. Harry gave a shrug.

"I do not presume to know the where and why. Again that is my own concern and not yours for why I travel with Frodo. Now I'm going to rest," Harry retorted before he laid down with a yawn, shifting under the blankets. Strider chuckled a little.

"Indeed. Young ones should be asleep," hinted Strider. "It is getting late so have a good rest, little one." Harry rolled his eyes at the man, miffed at the tone indicating he was being sent to bed, before he rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face into the bedding.

They would just have to see what morning would bring.

* * *

**Footnotes**

1 - Chapter Ten "Strider", Gandalf's original letter only modified.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Tom Bombadil will be mentioned in another chapter, more of a flashback. For some reason I felt that would be better. Hopefully this chapter is appeasing, as I had some trouble with it. I didn't want to create an overbearing, out of character Strider as I had the first time. Harry and Strider will have a rocky start in acquaintanceship before anything else. Rest assured elements from the Ring Child will still show up from time to time.

There might be another timeskip of a sorts as I want to move the journey towards Rivendell very soon, but do not fret. If I do skip a chapter from the books then it is with good reason and may be mentioned in passing rather than getting its own full blown scene. I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. School is coming up for all kiddos and while I do not have kids and attend university all year round, I am a cake decorator and there is an onslaught of orders for cakes at this time of the year because there's a lot of august babies and schools want cake. Lol. University is also getting in the way and I'm finding little time to actually sit down and write. Nevertheless I will try to keep two months the maximum amount of time that I spend between chapters, but I cannot promise that. Happy reading everyone!


	4. On the Path of Trust

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter. J.R.R Tolkein owns LOTR and J.K. Rowling owns HP. I am merely the original fanfiction author to the formerly popular story, _Ring Child_ (HPxLOTR). Should you recognize passages from either HP or LOTR, then simply refer it to yourself as an excerpt from either literary work. I will occasionally be using Tolkein's work almost word for word in some areas so that the wondrous descriptions and talk he gave in his writing is not muddied up by my attempts. This is not for monetary value nor anything other than entertainment to a fanfiction world. So do not judge on the basis of recognizing Tolkein's words. I do not claim them as mine.

**Warnings: **There is the occasional **swearing** and **violence** to be mentioned in this story, but the fluff should more than outweigh this tidbit. The more major warning is that both stories are heavily **spoiled** by this story, as I have read both of them to the best of my abilities. Therefore, do not waste your time criticizing my lack of information mentioned or not mentioned. I was not a terribly immediate fan of the Lord of the Rings series, but I do like the books and movies nonetheless.

Ring Child Rewrite Chapter Four "On the Path of Trust"

**Setting: **The Prancing Pony, September of 3018

Harry awoke with a startled shout being swallowed viciously in his throat. The only sound to escape him was a heave of panting as emerald green eyes unclosed, looking around wildly before he realized he wasn't in the midst of the Department of Mysteries with Sirius Black falling behind the veil again. He wasn't… He wasn't even in his own time. He was on a place called Middle Earth in 3018 instead of Earth in 1997. Or even 1995 like in his dreams…

Eventually the nightmare-riddled sleep cleared from his emerald eyes and he looked at the snoring Pippin beside Merry, Sam, and Frodo. A small wistful smile appeared on his face as he watched them silently. He'd grown rather fond of the lot since he'd arrived in Frodo's home those months ago. They didn't treat him as a child, perhaps because they were rather childish themselves and knew of his plight with height. He cast one last look at the hobbits before he turned to look where Strider sat. Had the man not slept at all?

"Something troubling you?" Strider inquired from his spot, eyes staring at the fire that crackled peacefully, clearly still blazing. Harry's eyes travelled to the sight, gazing at the flames that danced and flickered. A fireplace several years ago, with the head of his godfather in it, flashed through his mind before he shook his head as if to rid himself of the memories. He'd done rather well lately, not bringing back the memories, but they were getting rather persistent that he remember everything he did in his own world. It certainly squashed a lot of those childish urges he felt rise within every now and then.

"Nothing," Harry answered, moving to sit up. His eyes narrowed when he caught sight of something from the windows. It was faint, and hardly anything for concern, but he forced himself up and walked over there.

"They are aware we did not sleep where they intended," Harry responded as Strider came to stand beside him towards the window. The man simply reached forward and pushed the shutters back loudly, allowing the morning light to seep into the room, bringing a cold wind that made Harry shudder at first.

"Indeed," Strider hummed emotionlessly. He turned on his heels and roused the hobbits as Harry looked out the window before he watched them silently. Bustling into the bedrooms they had been given yesterday, Harry surveyed the damage. Strider went off, reappearing with the bolstering landlord who gave a frightened and tired expression. Harry felt a small bit of sympathy for the fact the room in which they were to have slumbered in would cost him some.

The window had been their entry, he noted as he walked towards the ruffled beds, the brown mat underneath tattered. The hobbits were dismayed and quite stunned. Harry couldn't help but feel relieved that they had not slept here and no one was hurt.

"Never has such a thing happened in my time!" cried Butterbur, hands up in horror. "Guests unable to sleep in their beds, and good bolsters ruined and all! What are we coming to?" Harry wasn't entirely sure what a bolster was, but he could guess from what was destroyed in the room. Strider assured them that they were going to be off as soon as they could and Harry frowned when Butterber left, only to return with more dismaying news. Their ponies were gone.

He could accio them, he mused. He hadn't cast any magic for quite a bit and his energy was at a tolerating level. But he did not know if Strider knew of his magic from Gandalf, and he was definitely aware Butterbur didn't. Maybe…

"Perhaps I could help search for them?" Harry finally spoke, startling Butterbur at hearing the almost high-pitched voice from the only cloaked figure in the room, the shortest of the lot even. It was clear he was placing the level of his voice with somewhat near his age, and with the way Butterbur's eyes narrowed when they looked down at Harry's feet, he was surely guessing what was amiss. "I have… quite a gift with locating animals."

"Then by all means, have at it," Strider said with a raised eyebrow. Harry nodded and left the room, grabbing up his lightened pack as he did so. He exited the Prancing Pony with some raised eyebrows his way, but he ignored them in favor of walking out of the thankfully unwatched gate and towards the encased forest that the hobbits and he had travelled from.

"This should do it," he said aloud as he sat down on the gravel and pulled the thin staff from his bag and studied it for a second, feeling Gandalf's signature pulsing through it, tasting at his own magic in curiosity. It was much like it had since the first time he used it, and he hoped it would give aid to him again.

"_Accio_ the hobbit ponies," Harry cast, performing the wand movement he remembered accompanied the spell. He could hear neighing in the distance, and the sound of frightened horses. His magic pulsed, feeling quite pulled as it listened to its owner, before three to four ponies appeared in his sight. Dropping the spell instantly, Harry panted and stared. He wasn't entirely sure if there were more than that, but it seemed these were in the area, and he recognized the one he'd been riding, so he supposed they were theirs.

The ponies looked immensely affronted at having been levitated towards him, but Harry sent them an apologetic look before he took hold of their reigns they had thankfully been wearing before he led them out of the forest.

Strider was waiting for him by the gate, eyes gazing at the small boy as he led the disgruntled ponies toward him. The ranger was leaning against the posts, arms crossed and contemplating as he reached him.

"Quite the whisperer of animals," commented Strider. Harry shrugged.

"A talent, I should wager," Harry joked. He felt like curling up on a pillow and resting the day away after that bit of magic, but he was inordinately pleased with himself for using magic and not getting caught.

**Setting: **The Road to Rivendell

The road out of Bree was quiet and thankfully, private. No one saw them leave, thanks to Harry's quick recovery of their ponies and Strider's experienced gathering of supplies for their new journey. Frodo and Sam shared one of the ponies while Merry, Pippin, and Harry rode their own. Strider was content to walk beside them, his strides much longer than theirs. For some reason, he walked beside Harry.

"Have you had this… talent for animals long then?" Strider asked as they travelled, Frodo and Pippin bickering over something as they rode behind Harry. They were nearing Weathertop now, it seemed. It had already been a little over five days since their leave from Bree, and Harry had no idea if they were making any real progress. Strider seemed to know his way though, guiding Harry's pony with ease. Their camping at night and overall travel was rather unpleasant, with biting insects and uncomfortable surroundings, but Harry couldn't say it couldn't be expected. He was relieved they were out of the woods literally, however.

"I have," Harry said. Which was true. "All my life." He'd been born with magic after all.

"Interesting," Strider mused to the shrunken wizard. Harry hummed noncommittally before listening to the peaceful conversation of the hobbits. They certainly were more merry, relaxed even, with someone to guide them through these lands.

"That is Weathertop," announced Strider. "The Old Road, which we have left far away on our right, runs to the south of it and passes not far from its foot. We might reach it by noon tomorrow, if we go straight towards it. I suppose we had better do so."

"What do you mean?" asked Frodo, drawing his pony up next to Harry's own.

"I mean: when we do get there, it is not certain what we shall find. It is close to the Road."

"But surely we were hoping to find Gandalf there?" Frodo didn't look pleased with the idea that Gandalf might not be there. In fact, a worried expression blossomed on his face at his own words. Harry hoped that Gandalf had simply gone ahead of him, but he didn't let his thought sit for long.

"Yes; but the hope is faint. If he comes this way at all, he may not pass through Bree, and so he may not know what we are doing. And anyway, unless by luck we arrive almost together, we shall miss one another; it will not be safe for him or for us to wait there long. If the Riders fail to find us in the wilderness, they are likely to make for Weathertop themselves. It commands a wide view all round. Indeed, there are many birds and beasts in this country that could see us, as we stand here, from that hill-top. Not all the birds are to be trusted, and there are other spies more evil than they are." Strider was explaining as they reached the top. Birds weren't always to be trusted? The thought of Hedwig flashed through Harry's mind and he frowned. Well, Hedwig proved that birds had the intelligence to betray or at least be loyal to someone.

"Should we divert our path?" Harry asked. Strider nodded.

"I think," answered Strider slowly, as if he was not quite sure, "I think the best thing is to go as straight eastward from here as we can, to make for the line of hills, not for Weathertop. There we can strike a path I know that runs at their feet; it will bring us to Weathertop from the north and less openly. Then we shall see what we shall see."

Harry couldn't find fault in his logic, nor could Frodo, so they agreed and the four hobbits, deaged wizard, and a ranger trudged onward. They ended up stopping for the night, however, and the hobbits dropped off to sleep surprisingly fast. Harry had long since grown used to sleeping on the somewhat itchy grass, a thin blanket to cover himself as he cushioned his head on his travel pack. Strider didn't show any inclination that he was going to sleep, so Harry sat back up.

"Do rangers not sleep?" Harry asked, amusement colouring his voice.

"You could say this, I suppose," Strider hummed as he looked down at the smaller male. "I do believe little ones need their rest. One of your age should also sleep more than you have." Strider sounded just a small bit parental there to Harry's ears, but that only irritated him.

"One of your age no doubts requires more sleep than I," responded Harry. "How old are you, Strider?"

"Old enough," chortled Strider. "Hearing this name come from you is quite queer. If you so wish, you may call me Aragorn… or Estel."

"Estel?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Aye. Estel is the childhood name I bore until I came of age."

"Then why ask that I call you such an inti.. in… close name?" Harry brought a hand to his mouth, wondering why that particular word gave him such problems. Idly, he rubbed at his mouth in irritation.

"There is something about you, perhaps your young age, which draws me. You're quite mature, almost older than your years."

"I am older than I look," Harry said.

"I feel as if you are," hummed St… Estel. "Now, you should rest. If my resting for a small time will ease you, then I will."

"I was not ill at ease," huffed Harry as he let his head fall back, watching silently as Estel relaxed, giving a faint appearance of resting against the burly tree behind him. Emerald green eyes looked out into the darkening skies before sleep overcame him as well.

**Setting: **Rivendell

The feeling of waking up from a deep sleep was the first thing Harry had. His mouth tasted dry and his eyes weighed down by the crust of sleep. Still, he persisted and soon enough emerald green eyes fluttered open as a groan escaped him.

"Where…" he croaked to no one in particular.

"You are currently in the house of Elrond, Rivendell's lord if you wish to know, little wizard," came a familiar voice. Harry immediately glanced over and a faint smile broke out onto his lips.

"How'd I get to Rivendell?" he asked, relieved to have made it to the destination Gandalf told him of nevertheless.

"That question was something I quite admit to hoping you could answer," Gandalf looked faintly amused, curious, and concerned in that elderly gaze of his. Harry averted his eyes, memories coming back at his words. He'd thrown up a notice-me-not spell when the hobbits mentioned feeling followed, and it must have dropped when he'd fallen asleep before the others. He'd awoken to some panic as the Riders went for Frodo, and had snatched up his staff and cast various spells.

Everything had been a state of blurriness after that.

"How long have I been uncon… out?" Harry finally asked, his hand rubbing his mouth in annoyance. Yet another word he was having trouble saying.

"I'm afraid for longer than three days. Your magic, it seems, took a heavy toll on your small body."

Harry stared, unable to believe he'd been unconscious for that long. "Perhaps," continued Gandalf. "the sheer amount of magic you had put into your spells rendered your body exhausted."

"Where is Estel and the others then?" Gandalf gave a surprised hum at his use of the ranger's name.

"Estel is he to you? I imagine either running amok in panic at your disappearance, if you were with them to begin with, or traveling here."

"They have not arrived yet?" Harry looked at the Istar with a frown.

"They have not. However, this may be opportune in finding a way to return you to your home without them present."

"Perhaps we should wait," Harry said, biting his lip.

"Do you not wish to still find a way home, young one?" Gandalf looked at Harry, drawing his pipe from his face.

"I…" Harry paused and looked away. "I should think my assistance might be needed here more than my home." He didn't want to say it was because he'd started to grow quite attached to Frodo and the others. Even though he dearly wished for a way home, there would be time, he was sure. "Do you know of a way?"

"I do not, little wizard. I was in the midst of researching and inquiring other natures when I was held captive."

"Captive?!" Harry's eyes widened.

"Aye, even I, Gandalf the Gray, may fall to the humility of being captured. I will say more at the Council that will be gathered when Frodo and the others have arrived." Gandalf said. He then went into detail of how Harry had collapsed from the exhaustion and they were met by Glorfindel. "For now, you have been ordered by Lord Elrond to rest, so sleep little one. However, I do have one question." Harry frowned but nodded, his curiosity somewhat sated.

"Harry, I must profess I am at a loss at how you came to be in such a state." Gandalf hummed. Harry paused before he nodded.

"I admit I was a bit foolhearty with my actions…

_Estel had commanded them to hold onto long sticks with their faces away from the fire, yet their backs nearly pressing. Harry had felt the heat licking at his back while he held still, his hands gripping the staff and praying he need not use it. Estel had gone to investigate, leaving the hobbits and he alone._

_Frodo was beside him, breathing as silent as he could though still quite in panic. _

_At last they came, looking so much like Dementors that Harry nearly shouted his patronus at them. The chill that radiated off of these nasty beings was similar, as was the fear of fire. Beside him, he felt Frodo stirring and he was alarmed to see the hobbit's hand shakingly draw towards the ring, slipping it onto the forefinger of his left hand._

_All hell broke loose after that. Without much thought, Harry shouted out _Incendio_ quite loudly, staff pointed at the Black Riders before one burst into flames, his magic violent and willing to help its master as the thing screamed. The fire it produced was enormous, perhaps sending a beacon to all near that something was amiss. Harry felt his magic straining._

_The other Riders paused in their act before charging forth to where Harry assumed the invisible Hobbit was. Unwilling to let his friend suffer, Harry dropped the spell on the burning Rider and cast the spell twice more just as Strider leapt into the area, his hand gripping a burning wood only to stop as he spotted them. _

_His magic was begging for him to rest, as if those simple spells had exhausted it. He felt a pulling that was similar to apparition before he was squeezed through a tube and found himself sprawled on the most luscious sight of greenery he'd ever witnessed. Harry's last conscious thought revolved around how late the ranger had been in saving them and that he had no idea where he'd ended up this time before he fell unconscious._

Next thing I know I'm waking up here. What happened might have been what my world calls apparation. The ability to travel instantly."

Gandalf nodded, puffing on his pipe before he stood. "I am grateful for your explanation little wizard. It seems to merely be magical exhaustion, if such a thing had ever existed before, truly. Lord Elrond wagered that you'd caught an illness. From your story, I happen to agree. The entirety of Rivendell had all but gossiped like children about your appearance. Now I beg you to rest after my disturbance, for Lord Elrond will have my head if he were to see my curious form here."

Harry shook his head, amused, as Gandalf bid him farewell. Fully awake, the deaged teen looked around his current sleeping quarters quietly before slipping out of the bed. His bare feet touched soft, yet firm flooring and he padded over to the door. Clad in foreign clothing that felt soft to the touch, he couldn't find his own clothes and decided on leaving that task for later. Disregarding Gandalf's words of rest, the small wizard padded over to the door and realized he was in for a ride here.

For one thing, the door knob was taller than him.

Standing on the tips of his toes, the boy-who-lived just barely grasped the knob and got it to turn before he tugged it back and slipped into the halls. It was almost similar to Hogwarts, he mused, only more open and refined. Emerald green eyes surveyed the intricately designed halls that reminded him of when he first laid eyes on such a wondrous castle that had been his home for six years before he'd been forced on the run.

Harry started his trek down the long and glorious halls when he felt gentle hands cup under his arms before he was lifted upwards and turned around. Taken aback, Harry squirmed about at being held as he was. Being small hadn't seem like such a big deal until now, away from the hobbits.

"_Calm little one_," spoke a musical voice as Harry came face to face with an unfamiliar, yet handsome man. He could not understand what had been said, but the words had worked to halt him. This unknown stranger appeared ageless, not quite old nor young in his appearance. His hair, as dark as shadows, propped a circlet of silver on top to show his royalty no doubt. Grey eyes looked at Harry with amusement shining, but concern nestled there. This was the Lord of Rivendell and mighty among so many other races, Harry realized.

"Are you Lord Elrond?" Harry asked. The elf smiled and nodded, bringing Harry closer until the deaged teenager was perched upon his hip. The elf lord's hands easily held him in place so that he did not have to worry about falling off, though Harry couldn't stop the instinct to bring his arms up around his neck for security. Harry wanted to protest, but simply a blush rose to his cheeks and he said nothing. It was an odd experience, to be held as such, but the foreign experience was not unpleasant.

"I wager one of two possibilities have taken place. One, that Gandalf decided that my orders for bed rest was unneeded, or two, that a certain young lad did not heed Gandalf's words." Harry didn't look at him, feeling the childish sensation of guilt. "I feel as if it were the latter. You must rest your young body, little one. You wore yourself out with your magic."

"You know?" Harry's eyes widened.

"I do. Gandalf had felt it prudent to inform me of your circumstances in addition. I'm afraid I do not have the answers to how to return you home in the future, but I am quite able to help you in the here and now," Elrond had managed to carry Harry back into his resting rooms while he talked, setting the pint-sized wizard back onto the plush bed.

"Will I be able to return?" Harry asked as he fell back against the plump pillows. The lord brought a hand up and let it rest lightly atop the black-haired boy's head for a moment.

"I shall be honest with you, Harry," Elrond said as he sat down beside the boy on the bed. "We have very little information about how you came to Middle Earth. The task to find a return is not a light one by any means." Harry dropped his gaze onto his small fingers. Could there be a chance he might never see Hermione or Ron again? They were all he had left really. But… they had each other and always would have. Did they really need him? In all honesty, he'd started to grow attached. Too attached.

"Is there a possib… po—uhmm chance that I might not go home again?" He asked, frowning at his inability to say yet another word.

"That I cannot say Harry," Elrond told him gently, pulling the comfortable duvet over his small form before standing up. "However, I do advise that you rest for now and we can discuss your situation at a later date."

Harry frowned but nodded. Turning onto his side, the wizard closed his eyes and hoped Elrond had left, but he nearly jumped when a hand was placed over his forehead and a hand was gently carding through his messy black locks.

"_Rest little one_," came the musical voice with the unfamiliar language as Harry felt himself surrender to Morpheus.

**Setting**: Weeks later…

"It seems Frodo and the others will rejoin us shortly," Gandalf said to Harry. The young wizard looked at him with a nod, having heard a report that hobbits and a man were seen within the borders. He'd been beside Lord Elrond working on writing in the common language with Erestor's help when the reporter had come in. The elf lord had kept him there to keep an eye on him after Harry had been caught about to explore the forest.

The elves were very protective of him, Harry had discovered the day after he'd been allowed out of bed.

Though Elrond was aware of Harry's mental age, he seemed not to have cared. It was later explained to him that elves saw his true age as infantry already, to his dismay. That being said they couldn't seem to resist their mollycoddling of him. Whether it was making sure Harry had a bath and then bed way before anyone else in the home, or that he'd eaten what they had stocked upon his plate, he was hardly alone.

Such as when Harry had tripped and received a cut for his troubles. The elf, Erestor, was very keen on bundling Harry up and whisking him to the infirmary to clean and bandage his cut before suggesting he spend the day playing quietly with him in his current room. The seamstresses had a ball crafting plenty clothes for a little boy, they'd told him, and the woodcrafters had crafted quite an array of toys that joined the ones kept from Elrond's children.

It was driving Harry crazy.

Erestor had been his designated tutor and caregiver it seemed, constantly teaching him the history of Middle Earth as well as prevented Harry from being on his own if he could help it. So far he'd officially only ever met Elrond and Erestor, having heard but not met Glorfindel or any others that he'd heard about just yet.

Harry eventually managed to escape everyone after a hearty lunch in which Erestor made sure that Harry had eaten a good portion of his meals. He thought Frodo had been bad about that!

Grimacing, the wizard made his way into the garden above the steep bank of a river and sighed as he sat down on a porch where the house faced east. Bilbo Baggins chuckled from where he was perched a ways away from him, the hobbit having been amused by Harry's attempts to hide over the weeks that he'd now been here while waiting for Frodo to appear.

"They do mean well, Harry," Bilbo informed the young adult.

"Aye they do, Mr. Baggins, but I am going to be driven spare from their coddling!" Harry gave an exasperated huff. "I am no infant, so why they treat me as one is tiresome."

"Elves do not have children as often as the race of men," Bilbo said. "I believe I was told quite the tales of a young Estel being treated much the same."

The comment was a little more reassuring, knowing he wasn't just being treated as a child just because. Elves seemed the type to coddle any child, if they could not have children so easily. Harry sighed and made himself comfortable, letting his little fingers trace the pedals of a flower within his reach.

Tom Bombadil had been an interesting man, the first that he'd encountered in this world. After that mortifying introduction in which Tom had carried him back to his home, he'd smothered the poor wizard. Harry almost turned red at the memory of meeting Tom's love who'd insisted on giving him a bath and making sure he was properly dressed and tucked in that first night. Never again, he mused. If he could never see Tom and her again it would be too soon!

The sound of hooves in the distant alerted Harry to the fact that someone had arrived and he hurried to push himself up and peak over at the direction he could hear them. Emerald green eyes looked in their direction to spy the hobbits alongside Estel.

"Frodo!" Harry called out, eyes lighting up at the sight of his companions. He ran over to greet them just as he could see Elrond talking to the group.

Estel was the first to spot him and he said something in surprise that Harry could not hear as he was still a distance away, having been closer to the home of Elrond than the forest. The hobbits gave loud exclamations of surprise and glee at his appearance, however.

"Harry! Quite a sight you are!" Frodo said jovially. "Saving my life only to disappear. I don't think I'd ever had such a fright."

Harry rubbed the back of his head sheepishly as he uttered his explanation lowly to only Frodo's ears. He still did not know if Estel knew of his magic. "I had, what my people call, apparated. I'd transported here for a reason I do not know." He was glad to see that Frodo was looking well, he'd been rather worried that those Black Riders had gotten to Frodo after he'd left.

"Nevertheless, your group has been reunited. Let us adjourn to your rooms for much needed rest." Elrond told the group. Frodo nodded, relieved, while the others were in awe of the elf. They were quick to follow the lord as Estel hung back with Harry. The man knelt down and put a hand to the wizard's shoulder.

"I am glad that you are alright, little one. I worried endlessly that you'd been destroyed in some way." Estel said softly. He was looking at Harry differently, and he couldn't help but compare that look to the same one the elves gave him often. He shook the thought away.

"I have merely been with the elves, who are quite coddlesome. They baby me too much," Harry decided to answer, trusting Estel just a bit more. He'd kept Harry's friends safe from the looks of it. Estel simply smiled and stood back up.

"The elves care very much for children. This is the home that I grew up in, so I understand your plight, Harry." Chortled Estel. Harry couldn't help but laugh as well, allowing Estel to ruffle his hair before leading the way back inside. The ring had made it to Rivendell and Harry could only hope a solution could be cast about the ring. His own solution would just have to wait, he decided.

**Author's Note:** I am terribly sorry everyone. I am two months later than I usually update. I can only explain that my computer took me by surprise and decided to kill itself. I had a suicidal computer on my hands that would not start up and eventually had to replace the stubborn thing with a shiny laptop instead. So I'm able to type at Starbucks now, yay! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! The Council is arriving next chapter and Legolas and the others will make their debut finally! Have a happy holidays everyone.


	5. Welcome to the Fellowship

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter. J.R.R Tolkein owns LOTR and J.K. Rowling owns HP. I am merely the original fanfiction author to the formerly popular story, _Ring Child_ (HPxLOTR). Should you recognize passages from either HP or LOTR, then simply refer it to yourself as an excerpt from either literary work. I will occasionally be using Tolkein's work almost word for word in some areas so that the wondrous descriptions and talk he gave in his writing is not muddied up by my attempts. This is not for monetary value nor anything other than entertainment to a fanfiction world. So do not judge on the basis of recognizing Tolkein's words. I do not claim them as mine.

**Warnings: **There is the occasional **swearing** and **violence** to be mentioned in this story, but the fluff should more than outweigh this tidbit. The more major warning is that both stories are heavily **spoiled** by this story, as I have read both of them to the best of my abilities. Therefore, do not waste your time criticizing my lack of information mentioned or not mentioned. I was not a terribly immediate fan of the Lord of the Rings series, but I do like the books and movies nonetheless.

Common Language

_Sindarin (or Elf language. Don't judge me. Lol) or Memories… _

Ring Child Rewrite Chapter Five "Welcome to the Fellowship"

**Setting: **Rivendell, October of 3018

Being short was beginning to be very abysmal in every way possible.

Harry scowled as he looked up at the towering bookshelf in front of him, wondering if he could throw something at his desired literature in order for it to tumble into his waiting hands. While the elves were assembling many a company for the council of Elrond, Harry had been ushered into a world of studies and playing. Erestor seemed quite determined for him to learn and be a child of his physical age, 18 be damn apparently.

It wasn't as if he was staying here; nevertheless, this truth seemed to have gone unnoticed by the elves.

His newest overbearing caretaker, besides the startlingly protective Estel, was the recently met Glorfindel. The golden-haired elf with a fearless, youthful face had taken to showing Harry all the ways to annoy Erestor most. One such memorable moment had been Erestor chasing Glorfindel down with a book due to the blonde elf's plot of throwing cold water onto the poor chief counsellor. Glorfindel and Erestor were quite the pair, reminding Harry of Sirius and Remus. The thought pained him when he thought of it, but he tried to distract himself with other many interesting observations.

Like Estel. The man was confusing Harry. They'd gotten along quite well despite their introduction to one another, but now the man seemed bent on keeping Harry sheltered.

"If I had known the book would offend you in such a way I would not have asked you to look for the item," came the musical voice of Glorfindel. Harry whirled around, scowl dropping from his face as he looked at the elf.

"I see not why I must study," Harry exclaimed after a beat had passed. A curl of his lips showed the amusement on the warrior's face.

"Tell me this Harry," Glorfindel spoke, his lips quirking upward still. "How would you have the knowledge to one day face this world's treasures, if you did not know how best to pursue them?"

"Instinct?" Harry sarcastically asked, fed up with these riddles and bypassing of simple answers. He almost preferred Snape in Potions class in comparison... Almost.

"I suppose instinct could get you somewhere, at the front of a very sharp sword in your face when trusting the wrong instinct," Glorfindel countered. Harry deflated. "I see that you are spent. Come, _little one_. We shall go sneak upon the others and spy at our incoming guests for it is time for the evening meal, no?"

Keener on this idea, Harry accepted the hand reaching down to capture his own as he was led out of the library and down the halls of the house of Elrond where he could spy many entering the dining hall and settling into the already filling banquet.

Harry could spy someone as short as the hobbits, only… burlier and with a beard that rivaled Albus Dumbledore's. This had to be a dwarf with the similar appearance to those he'd seen at Bree. The long and forked beard was white, reaching quite far down his belly. He wore a silver belt that was burdened with silver and diamonds decorating it. The dwarf sat beside Frodo, who seemed enraptured. Hadn't Frodo once told him that his uncle Bilbo had travelled with dwarves?

"Welcome and well met!" announced the dwarf, turning towards Frodo. He, to Harry's surprise, rose and bowed at the hobbit. "Glóin at your service," he introduced and bowed still lower.

Harry tuned the rest out, emerald green eyes looking over the rest of the company that had gathered. Glorfindel ushered Harry over to one side of the table and Harry was grateful the seat had a cushion to help him see at least. The elves had been rather daunting in the task of keeping Harry on one of their laps as of late, something he did not appreciate. The hobbits had expressed their amusements plenty of time at Harry's treatment when they were given their independence.

"Up you get, child," Glorfindel chimed as he lifted Harry up into the seat.

"Must you treat me as if I was so helpless? Frodo and the hobbits were quite easily able to gather in their seats and so can I." Harry asked in exasperation. The elf chuckled and placed a hand upon his head, tousling the messy black locks as Harry looked around. "Who is that?" He suddenly asked, eyes landing on a beautiful woman beside Lord Elrond.

Against the wall was a chair nestled underneath a canopy of fine material, much like the royal décor that Harry found in this place. Seated in the delicate throne of a sorts was a lady that would have put Fleur to shame. She looked similar to Elrond enough that Harry figured there was a relation. The braids of her dark hair flowed in a tight but elegant manner, her white arms (and face) flawless and smooth as if made akin to a china doll. Her grey eyes were looking toward Elrond, shining though clear as a cloudless night. She looked queenly and wise, as if she had lived long enough to know the world's secrets. Atop her braided hair was a silver lace netted with small gems that reached above her brow, a glittering white and a girdle of leaves of silver.

"Who is that you may ask," Estel started as the ranger sat himself beside Harry. He was fairly well dressed as well, reminding Harry that Erestor had set out his own ensemble this morning that he had begrudgingly put on, a simple attire with a trimming of emerald greens. "She is the daughter of Lord Elrond. Fair lady Arwen."

Answer given, he broke his observation away when Estel placed a plate full of food in front of him. Frowning at Estel, he made a point of leaning back and away from his meal.

"You have become quite unbearable in your ways since arriving here," Harry quipped.

"You have become quite unbearable in your ways since I arrived here," parroted the ranger with a smirk. "I was merely awakened to your… state… when you disappeared before my eyes. Gandalf had told me of your magic, but it was still quite shocking when witnessed."

Ah, so Estel had known of his magic from the start. Lovely.

"That is very little reason to change how you act around me," the wizard pointed out as he leaned forward once more and stared the potato on his plate down.

"Have I changed how I act around you?" Estel thought aloud with a sly smile on his face. Harry raised an eyebrow before realizing that no, he hadn't really. Estel had just been more subtle about his actions before this. Damnit.

"You exhaust me. The lot of you," huffed Harry.

"Quite a unique expression there, but I suppose we do." Glorfindel acknowledged as he finally reminded Harry that he was still there. "Now however much I shall _exhaust_ you with my pestering, I do beg of you to eat your meal Harry." He pushed at the plate a little so that Harry could see the fully loaded plate before him. Rolling his eyes, he looked up at Glorfindel who raised a challenging eyebrow at him.

"If I must," sighed Harry as he picked at his food before popping a piece of potato in his mouth. He hoped they left Rivendell before this mollycoddling of theirs turned him into a bowling ball.

**Setting:** The Council of Lord Elrond

In the quiet of Rivendell a bell rang, loudly yet in a manner of which was only for the listening ears being the selected council. Harry looked up from following a lone bug scuttling past at its sound. The warning bell for the Council of Elrond, a meeting Gandalf had desired Harry to attend while others were far more hesitant. Frowning, the wizard debated with himself before the soles of his shoes turned toward the echoes of the bell. He could spy Sam trotting behind Frodo, Bilbo, and Gandalf easily enough. With a slight thought, Harry took place behind a bush that fortunately planted next to Lord Elrond.

He could see the backside of Elrond (a thought that had him snickering almost) as well as several other members he'd seen throughout his time here. Harry could spy Estel in the corner by himself, clad in the clothing he met the ranger in. Frodo took a seat beside Elrond as the lord spoke.

"Here, my friends is the hobbit, Frodo son of Drogo. Few have ever come hither through greater peril or on an errand more urgent."

Thus Elrond began to introduce Frodo to many that Harry had not known either. He listened intently. Beside Glóin sat his son, Gimli the dwarf. Amongst the elves there was one by the given name of Galdor whom was an Elf from the Grey Havens on errand from Círdan the Shipwright. To Harry's interest the next to be met was Legolas, son of Thranduil and prince of the Elves of Northern Mirkwood. There were other elfish settlements, which brought forth a thought of what they must look like.

One of the last to be mentioned was just as isolated as Estel had been. A tall man with his boot-covered feet extended out in casual manner. With a fair and noble face, the dark-haired, grey-eyed man gave an assessing glance to all. He reminded Harry of a traveler, preparing for a ride upon his horse even though his garments were quite rich and the cloak he wore was fur-lined and clearly well used. Upon his neck was a great horn tipped with silver that rested on his knees, to Harry's curiosity. What could the horn be used for?

"Here," continued Elrond, "is Boromir, a man from the South. He arrived in the grey morning, and seeks for counsel. I have bidden him to be present, for here his questions will be answered."

"Yet one particular companion is still bidden only to play in the gardens," Gandalf said slyly and Harry knew who he was talking about.

"He should not be exposed to such talk," Elrond said. Did the elf lord sound a bit… calculating? Harry frowned.

"You would be quite surprised at what he knows and knows not," Gandalf said casually. "I have known him for quite a journey, and my first talk with him was quite informative. I would not underestimate him just because of his youthful appearance."

Well it was nice to know that Gandalf was standing for him. Quite like Sirius when he insisted Harry know and be treated like an adult. Ignoring the ache in his chest, Harry tried to focus once more on the others.

Glóin, and his son Gimli, had been sent from Dáin II Ironfoot to warn Bilbo of the dangers that beseeched him and his stolen ring. Glóin spoke of the troubles in the Lonely Mountain and of a deal with Sauron seeking their cooperation. Harry shook his head in dismay, hearing of one dwarf coming near the wave of temptation as it was.

The dwarf's talk brought forth what exactly it was that Bilbo had taken, the One Ring.

Elrond talked of Sauron and the Rings of Power, their forging in the Second Age of the world, and more on the One Ring to rule them all. His talk was quite long and Harry nearly felt the urge to take a nap, but he smacked his cheek to keep himself awake. He was startled when Boromir stood and asked for leave, speaking such words that Harry could barely keep up with. Wishing he'd paid more attention to what Erestor had tried to bestow on him in lessons, he rubbed his head and pulled out his wand, casting movements in practice as he listened distractedly. His magic was slowly growing, though at a frustrating pace.

"He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and he is descended through many fathers from Isildur, Elendil's son of Minas Ithil. He is the Chief of the Dúnedain in the North and few are now left of that folk."

_Wingardium Leviosa… Swish and Flick…_

"Then it belongs to you, and not to me at all!"

_Accio! No… How about a try at Alohamora? _

"It does not belong to either of us, but it has been ordained that you should hold it for a while."

_Too much energy drain… Wingardium… Wingardium Leviosa…_

"Bring out the Ring, Frodo! The time has come. Hold it up, and then Boromir will understand the remainder of his riddle."

Harry blinked from his idle listening in time to see the reluctant revealing of the ring. He'd seen the item thrice in Frodo's company and the thing baffled him. So like a horcrux it was, reeking of dark magic. He felt a small pull, almost as if_ Imperio _was being cast upon his person. Evidently this sparked a small argument between Boromir and Estel before Bilbo broke in.

_All that is gold does not glitter,_

_Not all those who wander are lost;_

_The old that is strong does not wither,_

_Deep roots are not reached by the frost._

_From the ashes a fire shall be woken,_

_A light from the shadows shall spring;_

_Renewed shall be blade that was broken:_

_The crownless again shall be king._(1)

"Not very good perhaps, but to the point – if you need more beyond the word of Elrond. If that was worth a journey of a hundred and ten days to hear, you had best listen to it," Bilbo ended with a snort before returning to whispering something or another to Frodo that Harry could not hear. It seemed to have helped though.

What sparked next was Bilbo's tale; something Harry had not heard in completion. Harry put away his wand before looking back through the parted leaves of his hiding spot, watching the meeting. Bilbo led way to Frodo having to speak, the younger hobbit clearly not comfortable reciting his own journey as much as his adopted father. Frodo, interestingly enough, omitted Harry as he talked, merely saying one of the other three hobbits in his place.

When Gandalf finally spoke of his capture, Harry felt a sense of déjà vu wash over. Betrayal after falling into a false sense of safety with a friend… How familiar. Harry wondered if his father could really be blamed for believing in Peter Pettigrew as he had, but that was something he could think about later as he focused.

Evidently there had been spies around the Shire for a while, sparking worry from the wizard as he had called upon Aragorn and revealed all of what he observed and knew of the ring. This ring that could corrupt and destroy those who used it.

"**Ash nazg durbatulyk, ush nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulyk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul**."

Suddenly Gandalf's voice spoke such harshness, such cold-toned, that a shiver went down Harry's back. Elrond did not sound pleased in return. He dared listen, as the council eventually continued, the fate of the ring being considered and argued. The Ring could only be destroyed in the Crack of Doom in Mount Doom, a place that none seemed desiring to near. Tom Bombadil's name made an appearance to Harry's embarrassment, as he recalled the terrible coddling that man and his beloved seemed to have out for him. For some odd reason Tom had been quite worse than the elves here. Urg. Nevertheless they moved on to the solution of sending it to the Valinor, but even hiding the Ring with them would be dangerous for generations to come. A solution had to be made in the immediate future to protect the future generations.

There was only one solution, and it didn't surprise Harry very much.

Who should take the responsibility was another matter, as they rejected Bilbo's offer of finishing what he started, which led to an argument until…

"I will take the Ring… but I do not know the way." Frodo sounded queer, as if he had no desire for this journey, but knew it must be him. Harry frowned at the tone. He could relate to that, but why would they force Frodo on such a journey? Even though it was he who volunteered.

"But you won't send him off alone surely, Master?" cried Sam, unable to contain himself any longer, and jumping up from the corner where he had been quietly sitting on the floor a little ways from Harry, but in near sight. All eyes turned to Sam, as Harry shook his head in amusement. Trust Sam to give himself away!

"No indeed!" said Elrond, turning towards him with a smile. "You at least shall go with him. It is hardly possible to separate you from him, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not."

Sam sat down, blushing and muttering. À nice pickle we have landed ourselves in, Mr. Frodo!' he said, shaking his head. Harry snorted, something which paused Lord Elrond as he slowly stood and Harry yelped as he felt a hand upon his shoulder. He looked up to see the face of Elrond with a guilty look, despite knowing Gandalf had wanted him there.

"Another eavesdropper, I wager," Lord Elrond said, amusement and also disapproval coloring his voice. Harry flustered but stood up, seeing the looks of surprise on the council's face. "Perhaps we should adjourn for now?" Harry caught Gandalf's eyes and saw the Istar nod.

**Setting:** The Gardens

"A wizard seldom is caught in their eavesdropping," Gandalf said with a chuckle as he sat beside Harry in the gardens of Imladris, puffing on his pipe calmly. Harry looked up at him and then down at the small shoe-clad feet of his. They were quite simple in material and design, he absently noted. Comfortable too.

"You forget, my… people were quite always caught in their eav.. ea—uhm spying. I knew of a pair of twins, the Weasleys, who invented an ear to spy on their mother and the secret order. The Order of the Phoenix we discussed months back when I ex… told you my situation." Harry responded, leaning against the tree and rubbing at his mouth in irritation. His hands found a twig beside him and he picked it up, twirling it in his unskilled hands and feeling the rough texture on his baby-soft skin.

"Quite intriguing. An ear, you say? I would have liked to witness that." Gandalf hummed. "Did you gather information well enough then of the council?" The two were quite for a minute or two, merely watching Frodo and the others from a distance, discussing their own worries and eagers.

"The Ring will corrupt Frodo, some way or another. There was an item, a horcrux as I once explained to you haven't I? It could corrupt even my own mind the longer I wore it. I said hurtful things, and so did my dearest friends. Words that could have destroyed everything." Harry sighed. He remembered the locket that had nearly torn apart his friends and him. Ron's hurt boiling over to the point they'd nearly lost him forever in their hunt.

"Indeed…" Gandalf was quiet for a moment. "Elrond figures I should have you stay in Rivendell."

"That will not happen I take it." After all, there could be nothing done for the moment about returning him home, so why not continue onwards?

"I happen to agree. Though you are dearly young, the youngest in fact, you possess experience in war from the memories you shared with me. However that is what Lord Elrond views of you. You are young and already jaded. He wishes to rectify this."

"A lost cause that will be," Harry grumbled, sighing again. "I do not need their coddling. I am already weary of my own past. I will one day return to my own world, and then this will have been for naught, this attempt to form a bond with me, do you think?"

"Only if you believe it to be, Harry," Gandalf said seriously. "Though the memories will become just that one day for you, the heart desires more than the head. It would not hurt to give in to desires and whimsical wishes…"

"I will think about that," Harry stalled before he stood up and stretched. "For now there is a Ring in need of being destroyed. I hope a decision is made soon."

The walk back into the home was peaceful, Harry's mind racing. Getting involved here was risky; he knew he was already growing quite attached to some of his companions. Could he really face the hurt again if he lost someone once more? If one of them were to die in this journey for the destruction of the Ring?

While he'd rather be having it up in the afterlife with his family or back home with Ron and Hermione, he knew he just couldn't leave Frodo to this doom of a journey. This maddening destruction of a ring so eerily like the horcrux that Harry feared for the hobbit's sanity.

That night after he'd been "put to bed" in the minds of the elders, Harry crawled out of bed and made his way silently to his balcony attached to the room. Noticing the dilemma of how tall the balcony railings were, he looked around the simple room for something. For the most part, all he could find was the comfortable bed, a wardrobe, shelves, and—oh! There was that chair in the corner, for whatever reason he knew not. He'd had to push a chair to see over the railing, but he was content to lean his crossed arms on top and watch the night sky. Several of them twinkled, as if talking among each other. Someone had once told him that people became stars after they died. He wondered if maybe that were more true than the afterlife?

"I'll return. Hermione. Ron. Ginny… I'm sorry I'm taking so long to get back." Harry said to the sky, clenching his fists. What would Hermione have thought of this wonderful and terrible world he was in? Perhaps she would have raided Elrond's library by now. Would Ron be laughing at Harry's pint-sized appearance? No doubt, he'd be making jokes nonstop, but understandable of his plight. Did Ginny miss him even? He couldn't even be sure. The questions made his stomach twisted and he sighed.

He never forgot experiencing the wonders of magic at the tender age of eleven, but then over the years it was as if a darkening curse had been cast upon him, losing just a little bit more of the wonder and replacing his feelings and awe with wariness. He'd been so excited to learn magic in the wizarding world, but already his first year had been muddled by the hands of Voldemort from the start. Then second year Tom Riddle's past came out to play, putting Harry on the bad spotlight of his peers. He'd thought he'd had a family finally, meeting his godfather, but even then the man couldn't take him in just yet. When… When Sirius had died… It was as if his entire view on magic had changed.

"_I DON'T CARE!" Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANYMORE!"_

_"You do care," said Dumbledore. He had not flinched or made a single move to stop Harry demolishing his office. His expression was calm, almost detached. "You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it." (2)_

How an adventure was a prideful little thing, something that was amazing at being accomplished. Now it simply meant a heavy burden and fear of losing a loved one, these adventures. Usually, he always had Hermione and Ron with him, so being completely alone in his experiences was daunting. He'd always counted on Hermione to just _know_ and Ron to help clear his head, _or sometimes provoke him_ Harry thought with a wry smile.

"_Hermione had taken his hand again and was gripping it tightly. He could not look at her, but returned the pressure, now taking deep, sharp gulps of the night air, trying to steady himself, trying to regain control. He should have brought something to give them, and he had not thought of it, and every plant in the graveyard was leafless and frozen. But Hermione raised her wand, moved it in a circle through the air, and a wreath of Christmas roses blossomed before them. Harry caught it and laid it on his parent's grave._

_As soon as he stood up he wanted to leave: He did not think he could stand another moment there. He put his arm around Hermione's shoulders, and she put hers around his waist, and they turned in silence and walked away through the snow, past Dumbledore's mother and sister, back toward the dark church and the out-of-sight kissing gate." (3) _

Hermione, with her crazy hair and booksmart personality. The sister he'd never had, who had been there for him when he finally saw his parents' graves for the first time. Always there to know what he was thinking and the answer to fixing his problems… And Ron…

"_Well?" Ron said finally, looking up at Harry. "How was it?"_

_Harry considered it for a moment. "Wet," he said truthfully._

_Ron made a noise that might have indicated jubilation or disgust, it was hard to tell._

_"Because she was crying," Harry continued heavily._

_"Oh," said Ron, his smile faded slightly. "Are you that bad at kissing?"_

_"Dunno," said Harry, who hadn't considered this, and immediately felt rather worried. "Maybe I am." (4)_

Ron with his humor to make Harry distracted from other worries. To give him thoughts so normal, so away from the darkness that his life slowly had become that Harry felt a smile brace his lips once more. His best friends would have gone on this journey with him, no matter what.

Shaking his head, Harry hopped off the chair and tugged the chair back inside his designated bedroom. He was just crawling back into the bed and tugging the duvet over him when he heard footsteps outside. Tensing, he quietened his breathing as the door opened slowly.

"He asleep…?"

"Looks like it."

Was that Aragorn…? There was another voice that he couldn't place, one that was softer toned and feminine.

"So this is the little one my father has taken under his wing for the moment," this woman said. Ah… must be Arwen. Harry felt a hand brush against the back of his head, where he'd buried his face into the pillow before they'd come in. The hand ruffled his raven block locks slightly.

"He's a mysterious child," Aragorn said. "Gandalf desires for Harry to join the fellowship that is to leave with Frodo."

"He is but a child!"

"Aye, he is. Gandalf has argued that Harry will prove himself capable. Yet the worry is there of Harry to be injured during this grueling journey." Aragorn didn't sound too happy about that. Harry frowned into the pillow. Why did everyone but Gandalf and the hobbits think him not capable? Was it because he did not divulge his secrets and inner workings? The thought irked him. He wanted to shift about and interrupt their little talk, but thankfully they changed their conversation.

Eventually this whole fellowship as semblance would commence and Harry knew he'd join Frodo on that journey.

Whether the others approved or not.

**Author's Notes: **I'm sorry everyone for the late update. No real excuse there, but I hope you enjoyed this chapter. This particular one gave me a lot of problems for some reason. We are at that moment in the story where Harry's emotions are starting to go at war with his mental self and the physical age he's being treated as. So you'll finally see a little more of Harry acting younger or a little more outgoing in his mind. Also you'll start noticing speech problems for Harry. It's going to be interesting for the poor guy, that's for sure.

**Footnotes:** You'll notice that I'm being vaguer about their location. It's tiring and I'm using so many different versions of both book series that I can't give the exact page at this point. Also there's two series I'm using now more than one. I'll always try to give direct locations to the chapters I'm using if I take a full excerpt from the book.

The Fellowship of the Ring – The Council of Elrond

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix – Sirius' death

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows – Harry's Parent's graves

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix – About Cho and Harry's Kiss


	6. Starting a New Chapter

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter. J.R.R Tolkein owns LOTR and J.K. Rowling owns HP. I am merely the original fanfiction author to the formerly popular story, _Ring Child_ (HPxLOTR). Should you recognize passages from either HP or LOTR, then simply refer it to yourself as an excerpt from either literary work. I will occasionally be using Tolkein's work almost word for word in some areas so that the wondrous descriptions and talk he gave in his writing is not muddied up by my attempts. This is not for monetary value nor anything other than entertainment to a fanfiction world. So do not judge on the basis of recognizing Tolkein's words. I do not claim them as mine.

**Warnings: **There is the occasional **swearing** and **violence** to be mentioned in this story, but the fluff should more than outweigh this tidbit. The more major warning is that both stories are heavily **spoiled** by this story, as I have read both of them to the best of my abilities. Therefore, do not waste your time criticizing my lack of information mentioned or not mentioned. I was not a terribly immediate fan of the Lord of the Rings series, but I do like the books and movies nonetheless.

Ring Child Rewrite Chapter Six "Starting a new chapter"

**Setting: Rivendell**

A chirping of birds had settled upon Imladris a day after the council of Elrond had come and gone. His so called 'minders' had been easily distracted by some news or another and the boy-who-lived had slipped away during that time that evening. Harry chewed on his lower lip as he found his way to the gardens, where he could spy a Bilbo Baggins leaving the presence of one Frodo Baggins. Frodo looked uneasy, now that he was alone. The expression was so familiar to the Boy-Who-Lived that he found himself stepping forward into the hobbit's sight with a small comment.

"Your burden is quite heavy, Frodo," Harry stated.

"Aye," Frodo agreed heavily with a sigh. The little wizard made his way to the bench that he sat upon, hoisting himself up and turning his head towards the hobbit.

"For what it is worth," Harry informed him quietly. "I know those feelings." Frodo turned to him in surprise. "There was no ring, nor even a choice in the matter, but when I was born, there was a prophecy about me." Frodo looked confused about such a prophecy. "A prophecy that would force me to save my own world."

So Harry explained. He talked and elaborated about his previous seven years in the magical world, of prophecies and dark lords and traitorous wizards. His words changed every now and then, finding that words he'd never had problems saying before now became stuck in his throat or tangled. He talked for what felt like hours, ending on the truth of the matter; how he came to be in Middle Earth. His throat hurt and his heart even more so as he continued through the deaths, the betrayals, the hurt of the war against Voldemort.

"I was conv… uhm talking with Ron and Hermione, you see, and felt this pull all day. None of us knew what it meant, but it wasn't until I woke up here, without them and in this small body, that how we met began." Harry finished. Frodo sat there silently, thinking of what he'd been told. He's known from that first meeting that Harry was not of the age he appeared, nor of this world from what Gandalf had informed him of. Yet, to know such turmoils Harry had gone through…

"I must express my gratitude for you Harry. Thank you. I can see that what you have told me was easy by no means, but that does give me the strength to carry on this treacherous burden." Frodo informed him softly while placing a gentle hand against Isildur's bane. Harry offered him a reassuring smile before he heard his name being called. Slipping off from his perch beside Frodo, he bid the hobbit a good night and went towards the source. No doubt the elves had discovered his escape once more.

**Setting: Some weeks later (Somewhat Interlude)**

Rivendell was located at the edge of a narrow gorge of the river Bruinen hidden in the moorlands and foothills of the Misty Mountains. The sun was lazily peaking over the mountain, spying on the occupants of Imladris as the element did every morning. A gentle breeze from the wind blew through the city, rustling trees merrily in greeting and puffing lightly on the crooning flowerbeds around homes. The wind stopped just shy of the window where a little boy peered out from to gaze at the mornings welcome to the lands.

Harry turned his attention to the beautiful outdoors for a mere spare minutes before climbing off the chair and hurrying over to the wardrobe that had contained clothing for him. The Elves had gone to town with crafting clothing for the little wizard, though Harry wondered if it was just to make him desire staying instead of continuing on the journey with Frodo. The small boy fingered the material, marveling at the different texture as opposed to clothes he wore months ago. He shook his head and pulled on a light tunic and brown trousers, stuffing shoes on his feet without bothering to do them up properly last minute before he stood on his tiptoes below the doorknob. His fingers brushed against the knob right as he heard a click and managed a small turn of the knob, enough to crack open his door.

Hearing the door creak, he winced before slipping outside into the hall. The very light snoring of Aragorn alerted him to the sleeping ranger just across from his sleeping chambers. Though a light sleeper the ranger could be, Harry knew he was exhausted from the days of traveling and sought his rest. Who wouldn't? The boy-who-lived smirked to himself before venturing towards the end of the hallway as quietly as he could manage. His shorter legs made the journey longer than he intended, but he managed as his small feet padded against the wooden floors in soft thuds.

Turning another door with much effort, the 17-year-old soon found himself facing a room with pots and pans aligned neatly among racks with a fire gently lit, no doubt for the cooking maids to begin breakfast shortly. Success! Harry closed the kitchen entrance and made his way over to the counters to begin his mission only to encounter his first greatest challenge of the day that beat even his usual encounter with the doors.

He was too short to reach the counter.

Frowning, Harry jumped up, only to slip and land heavily on his backside. 'Merlin that hurt,' thought the deaged teen as he rubbed his smarting bottom. Looking around, he spotted a sturdy enough chair sitting beside an island, no doubt from a maid taking her break. Where she was, he hadn't a clue but he snatched the leg of the chair and dragged his new ladder toward the counter, cringing when it squeaked in aggravation against the floors.

No one entered to his relief so he hauled himself up the chair and finally stood successfully atop the counters, reaching up to grab himself a mug from the cabinets before he slithered down his chair with his prize and made his way over to the pantry to scrounge around for ingredients.

Let it not be said that Harry could not cook, even in another world. He knew his foods, ever since he could walk really. Not to say he knew this because food was his passion, but more because of necessity.

His relatives never did like burnt food, as the mental aches reminded him from long ago. Harry busied himself with collecting his needed items to scrounge up breakfast, delighted in finding freshly baked loaves of bread and eggs, as well as a recently churned pot of butter on the counter that he had decided to remain standing on, teetering dangerously to the age from time to time as he walked from the stovetop with a pan to the sink occasionally. He had to bend down to cook, but at least he didn't have to get on and off the chair repeatedly.

"Having an adventure, are we?" Glorfindel's voice came out of nowhere, startling Harry as he whirled around to face him, feet spinning on the countertop. The elf chuckled in amusement as he made his way over to the young lad.

"I merely… felt the need for something new?" Harry excused as he looked at the warrior. "I used to cook for my relatives."

"What, pray tell, sought your desire this morning then?" The elf simply looked amused as he leaned against the counter, not making any move to snatch the lad off the counter.

"An omelet," answered Harry as he resumed watching his pan, "and toast."

"Toast?" Glorfindel repeated. "Perhaps you could tell me how you are cooking. I confess I have never cooked much beyond survival needs."

Harry smiled a little and thus began to show Glorfindel how to cook the omelet and toast, pleased that the man was actually interested.

**Setting: December 3018, Rivendell**

Nearly two months had passed in the House of Elrond, with December passing as the first signs of the scouts returning had been made. There had been travels beyond the springs of the Hoarwell into the Ettenmoors. Aragorn and his fellow Rangers had made the journeys far down the Greyflood, passing into even Tharbad, where the old North Road crossed the river. Many scouts travelled east and south; some crossing into the mountains and entering Mirkwood. Others had climbed the pass at the source of the Gladden River and had gone down to Wilderland, over the Gladden Fields, and arriving at the old home of Radagast at Rhosgobel. Radagast was not present unfortunately, so the scouts returned over the Dimrill Stair high pass. Elladan and Elrond, the sons of Elrond, had been the last to arrive, speaking only to their _adar _where they had gone.

None could find the Riders or servants of the Enemy. Even from the Eagles of the Misty Mountain could give nothing. Gollum did not turn up after his escape from Legolas and the Mirkwood elves, but the wild wolves could be seen gathering and hunting again. It seemed the Black Riders, at least, had vanished from the North.

They were waiting at dusk, seeking cover of night as often as possible in their journey until far from Rivendell.

"You should fear the many eyes of the servants of Sauron," Elrond informed them. "I do not doubt that news of the discomfiture of the Riders has already reached him, and he will be filled with wrath. Soon now his spies on foot and wing will be abroad in the northern lands. Even of the sky above you must beware as you go on your way."

Little would be taken with the Company of ten. Harry knew he was to go, after witnessing the argument between Gandalf the Grey and Lord Elrond of Imladris. Therefore the time for them to depart had seen Harry standing amongst the group, his staff no longer hidden in his bag and resting against his hands. Aragorn had Andúril and clad himself in only the rusty green and brown of a Ranger in the wilderness. Boromir had his long sword in fashion to Andúril with his shield and a war-horn around his neck.

"Loud and clear it sounds in the valleys of the hills," Boromir told them, "and then let all the foes of Gondor flee!" Putting it to his lips, Harry cringed as the foolish man blew a blast of noise that had many springing to their feet. Elrond reprimanded the man with exercising caution, though Harry could tell the man would not listen.

Gimli the dwarf wore a short shirt of steel-rings and a broad-bladed axe in his belt. Legolas had his bow and quiver with a long white knife to his belt. The hobbits all wore swords from the barrow, with Frodo holding Sting. Lastly, Gandalf bore his own staff, though at his side was the elven-sword Glamdring that he'd told Harry of.

Harry lightly fingered the fur-lined cloak he was wearing over the newly tailored clothing crafted for him in his stay here. Spare food and clothes had been laden on one of the ponies, for one would be all they needed.

The farewell merely met with waiting for Elrond and Gandalf who were adjourned to another room, the young wizard sitting amongst Aragorn and Legolas in wait.

"A child to come with is a ridiculous notion," he could hear Boromir murmuring yet again to his irritation.

"Oh? I happen to agree, you shouldn't be coming along, sir Boromir," Harry mocked, causing surprise in the ranger and elf beside him.

"You ought to watch your tongue, youngling," Boromir admonished with surprise on his own face at the insult from the little boy.

"Only if you watch yours," retorted the Boy-Who-Lived. "I am right here and my ears work quite well." Boromir stared at him before nodding and looking away. Boromir would be one he'd have to watch out for it seemed, quick to dismiss him for his young looks and perhaps a little too forceful for his liking. Harry caught Aragorn studying him before averting his own gaze, to the young wizard's irritation.

There was no laughter, nor breaking of song and dance when the elves bid farewell. Most, if not all, were staring at Harry with something akin to disdain, though he could tell not towards him directly. Gandalf had done a grand job at manipulating and dwindling away their defenses until Lord Elrond had finally agreed to Harry's accompanying to the fellowship.

And so their journey began away from the Last Homely House of Imladris and well into the cover of night. Harry looked back to see Glorfindel and Erestor looking grave. Turning back to his new companions, he hoped he didn't find himself in a journey that he'd never come back from.

Gandalf walked in the very front, Aragorn accompanying his footsteps as the two knew of these lands even in dark. Behind the two came the rest of the fellowship, with Legolas bringing up the rear with his keen eyes. The beginning of the journey was dreary to Harry, who couldn't be bothered to remember much of the uneventful, save for the hard icy blast of wind in the sunless days spent traveling at first.

At the very least he was tired less than his hobbit companions, for Aragorn had insisted upon Harry spending half their walking time perched upon their traveling pony. Harry had tried arguing that the hobbits had the same stature as him, but was shot down with the teasing realization that his youth tired him out far more than them.

Aragorn carried him every now and then, to his annoyance though he couldn't bring himself to say anything in that regard. The ranger's protectiveness was growing it seemed. It was as they were settled again to bunker down before their journey towards Hollin where they were settling for the entire night and more. Harry was beside the ranger keeping watch when he brought anything up.

"Why are you so… pro…caring?" Harry asked, eyebrow twitching at yet another word unable to come from his mouth correctly. He rubbed his mouth in irritation.

"Why would I not be?" Aragorn queried with a raised eyebrow on his face.

"You know me less than those who have never cared before," Harry tried to explain, though he bit his lip in thought. "I can take care of myself. I'm not worth the has… time caring for."

Aragorn was silent for a moment or two, perhaps processing those words or perhaps trying to find something to say to his explanation. Harry's small fingers fiddled with the dirt beneath him, feeling it's fine texture and silently marveling and how such a simple thing kept him feeling with wonder.

"Those who have never cared before were fools from the sounds of your words," Aragorn finally said. "You are certainly worth caring for, Harry Potter." Harry didn't say anything in response to his words, averting green eyes to look upon the night sky.

"They were no more foolish than I," Harry finally said. He felt arms snake around his underarms before lifting him onto one Ranger's lap. Harry leaned back and looked up questioningly. He'd never really been held like this and the feeling was rather foreign, but he didn't protest. The warmth of the to-be King and his firm heartbeat was rather soothing. He felt a wave of fatigue hitting him as he settled. Rubbing his eye with a hand, he blinked at Aragorn.

"I find myself caring for you just a bit more each day we pass by, little one," was murmured so lowly that Harry almost didn't hear it. He didn't react, or rather couldn't, as sleep slowly claimed him. He did know he'd said something vaguely that must've earned him an amused chuckle, because he felt the gentle, yet calloused hand of the ranger brush against his black bangs gently.

He didn't remember much else that night.

**Setting: January 3018**

"We cannot, of course, go on again tonight," Gandalf told them as they dined a fine evening many days later since their journey began. "The attack on the Redhorn Gate has tired us out, and we must rest here for a while."

Indeed, the Redhorn, or Caradhras (one of the mightiest peaks in the Misty Mountains) had been a journey that had tried their fellowship. Once a pass used by Hobbits to migrate from Gladden Fields into Eriador, it was no such luck for the group.

The journey had grown weary on all of them. For many days, perhaps a week or more, Harry had felt nothing but the frigid wind blowing onto his face and causing many shivers for the young wizard whose magic was not up to par to cast ongoing warming charms at this point. He'd used quite a bit of his low reserves during his initial journey with the Hobbits, and Gandalf was quick to request he not use anymore lest his recovering magic (perhaps from the travel across worlds) deplete. Their journey along the Misty Mountains had revealed suspicious spies of Mordor, a flock of birds to Harry. They'd tried to pass through Caradhras only to be met with snow of extreme means, nothing even nature could bring onto them.

Harry had never been quite as cold as that travelling, in his fair opinion. Aragorn had bundled him up and had him perched upon Bill their cargo pony, but to no avail he'd still felt the brutal weather. They'd been forced to concede defeat when the weather nearly blew them all away, only Harry's _Protego_ keeping him from being a pancake, though this fact did little to alieve Aragorn of his worry as the cold and magical use left him absolutely too exhausted to walk. His magic was still very much in reserves it seemed. Damn his small body.

Turning his attention back to their discussion, he could see Aragorn's heavy reluctance to pass through Moria, the suggestion having been spoken finally. From the little facts Erestor and Glorfindel had forced into his head, he knew they were mines once revered by the Dwarves, for the Dwarf-king Balin.

"It is a name of ill omen," said Boromir, casting a look at Harry which irritated the wizard. "Nor do I see the need to go there. If we cannot cross the mountains, let us journey southwards, until we come to the Gap of Rohan, where men are friendly to my people, taking the road that I followed on my way hither. Or we might pass by and cross the Isen into Langstrand and Lebennin, and so come to Gondor from the regions night to the sea."

"Things have changed since you came north, Boromir," the wizened Istar told Boromir. "Did you not hear what I told you of Saruman? With him I may have business of my own ere all is over. But the Ring must not come near Isengard, if that can by any means be prevented. The Gap of Rohan is closed to us while we go with the Bearer.

As for the longer road: we cannot afford the time. We might spend a year in such a journey, and we should pass through many lands that are empty and harbourless. Yet they would not be safe." Harry was somewhat guilty of tuning Gandalf out after this, having reasoned that Gandalf was nothing, if not a cautious wizard.

The name Moria caught his attention, however, as he knew about their earlier arguments about traveling to such a place. Erestor had told him of the place, the elf conceding to teach him darker elements after the news of his traveling with the Company had reached him. He'd gotten an earful certainly for the dangers he'd be facing, but at least Erestor did not seek to baby him and hide him from what he could encounter on this journey. The elves certainly coddled, but they did not believe ignorance would keep children safe.

"I do not wish to enter Moria a second time." Aragorn said, his hand coming down to rest atop Harry's hair, the little wizard having chosen to sit beside the ranger. When Harry looked up questioningly, the ranger didn't look his way.

"And I don't wish to enter it even once," said Pippin.

"Nor me," muttered Sam.

"Of course not!" said Gandalf, an affronted face about, "Who would? But the question is: who will follow me, if I lead you there?"

"I will," said Gimli eagerly.

"As will I," Harry inputted. "I've come to trust you Gandalf." The Istar gave him a gentle smile at his words, obviously pleased with the answer. Aragorn looked resigned at this, however.

"I will," the man sighed. "You followed my lead almost to disaster in the snow, and have said no word of blame. I will follow your lead now – if this last warning does not move you. It is not of the Ring, nor of us others that I am thinking now, but of you, Gandalf. And I say to you: if you pass the doors of Moria, beware!"

"I will not go," said Boromir, "not unless the vote of the whole company is against me. What do Legolas and the little folk say? The Ring-bearer's voice surely should be heard?"

"I do not wish to go to Moria," said Legolas.

Harry could see the hobbits in turmoil, sharing uneasy looks at this choice being asked of them. Harry shot Frodo an encouraging look that the hobbit caught before breathing out. "I do not wish to go," he said at last; "but neither do I wish to refuse the advice of Gandalf. I beg that there should be no vote, until we have slept on it. Gandalf will get votes easier in the light of the morning than in this cold gloom. How the wind howls!"

That wasn't the wind, Harry suddenly realized as Aragorn leapt to his feet, somehow entangling his hands around Harry and heaving the boy onto his hip in such a protective manner that it left Harry disoriented. He squirmed, only to be held tighter.

The Company sought the top of the small hill under their sheltering, where they lit a fire in the knowledge that darkness and silence would not keep their trail from discovering amongst hunting packs such as wolves. Aragorn finally placed Harry down onto his feet, settling beside the younger of the two and raising an eyebrow at Harry's glower.

"I can protect myself," Harry finally said to the questioning look.

"Aye, you can," Aragorn seemed to humor. "I merely reacted out of instinct, little one. My apologies."

Harry opened his mouth to retort that he wasn't little before snapping his mouth shut. Finally he huffed and raked a hand through his tousled black locks. Sitting down beside Aragorn, he rubbed his eyes as the day took its toll on his small body, leaning against the ranger moments later. He watched the night with him, awaiting the wolves until at last they appeared and Gandalf rose to ward them off with his staff.

At first none would be swayed until Legolas snapped his bow and a yell could be heard as one was soon slaughtered. With that darkness grew silent… before a storm of howls broke out all around the camp. Wargs, Harry dazedly could recall from seeing them in the history books of Rivendell.

"Fling fuel on the fire!" cried Gandalf to the hobbits. "Draw your blades, and stand back to back! Harry, keep your staff at a ready to move!"

Harry obeyed, using his staff in front of him to spell should he be needed. Gandalf would have asked for more if he felt the moment needed, which he knew mattered more than his desire to protect. Gandalf lifted a burning branch and cast upon a spell that he'd never before heard from the Istar in their learnings of the other's magic.

A tree above him burst into a leaf and bloom of blinding flame, from tree-top to tree-top until the hill was circled by fire. Legolas's arrow flew into the heart of a great wolf before the others fled at the small defeat.

Breathing only slightly in relief, morning came with no signs of the wolves, as if only the battlefield scene were the only evidence. They knew they had to retreat, and as such they were swift to leave.

The weather seemed queer after that, as if the clear blue skies and little wind would welcome them with open arms. Harry yawned, having not slept after that incident, and now he was regretting not catching some moment of sleep.

"There it lies," Gandalf finally said, pointing away south-eastwards to where the mountains' sides fell sheer into the shadows at their feet. One great grey wall appeared before them.

Back towards the mountains they went, the road towards Moria. As they walked there was no sight of water or any hint of the natural element, not even living creatures. Harry felt as if he were walking in a torture, tired and parched as he was now. Aragorn, seeming to sense his plight, lifted him up into his arms.

"Sleep, Harry." Aragorn said softly. More grateful to have a chance at rest, he did instead of protesting.

He awoke to find himself being set down into Legolas's arms, the elf giving him a reassuring smile when two bleary green eyes looked up at him.

"We are merely climbing the slopes. I am quite more capable of holding you and climbing than Aragorn at this moment," the prince of Mirkwood explained as he adjusted Harry onto his hip. "However, I may need you to hold on, child."

Harry, still somewhat groggy and feeling quite small, wrapped his arms around the elf's neck as they journeyed onward. He ended up falling back asleep for quite some time before the bursting of tears by Sam startled him awake. It seemed they were to be saying goodbye to Bill the pony at last, having made

As Sam said his goodbyes, Harry looked around and studied their surroundings from the arms of Legolas. As Gandalf passed his hands to and fro in a shadowed area, Harry could suddenly see an arch of letters in what he was beginning to recognize as some sort of elvish language.

The words were peculiar, something none of them could actually figure out the password to once Gandalf translated it.

_The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter._

_I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs_.

Harry watched the aggravation in Gandalf's eyes as the others gave dismayed looks at their halted progress.

Thus began the process of Gandalf riddling with the gates, casting spells and speaking many Elvish speeches. Harry managed to wriggle free of Legolas's hold, the elf having yet to put him down, and mde his way to look upon the pool of water before them, studying it with a sense of unease.

At last the wizard slapped his head in realization and spoke an elvish word, which Aragorn told him meant friend, before the gates of Moria began to unclose in the forboding manner of slow and as if something would soon be afoot in their vicinity.

Harry had a terrible feeling about this.

**Author's Note: Goodness it's been way too long my lovely readers. I apologize, but I've been working two jobs this summer and I had a move I was dealing with. Everything has been topsy-turvy for me as of late and I'm barely even home long enough to do much more than shower and pass out. It'll only get worse I'm afraid, so I apologize in advance if the next chapter may or may not take a while too. I'll try my best to get it worked on but no promises. This chapter was hard to write and yes there's quite a lot of Tolkein's word in there again, because I'm following his story as close as possible until my chosen divergence at certain points. I never said Harry will change the LOTR world, he's just merely along for the ride right now. Happy readings!**


	7. And in the Darkness, Bind Them

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter. J.R.R Tolkein owns LOTR and J.K. Rowling owns HP. I am merely the original fanfiction author to the formerly popular story, _Ring Child_ (HPxLOTR). Should you recognize passages from either HP or LOTR, then simply refer it to yourself as an excerpt from either literary work. I will occasionally be using Tolkein's work almost word for word in some areas so that the wondrous descriptions and talk he gave in his writing is not muddied up by my attempts. This is not for monetary value nor anything other than entertainment to a fanfiction world. So do not judge on the basis of recognizing Tolkein's words. I do not claim them as mine.

**Warnings: **There is the occasional **swearing** and **violence** to be mentioned in this story, but the fluff should more than outweigh this tidbit. The more major warning is that both stories are heavily **spoiled** by this story, as I have read both of them to the best of my abilities. Therefore, do not waste your time criticizing my lack of information mentioned or not mentioned. I was not a terribly immediate fan of the Lord of the Rings series, but I do like the books and movies nonetheless.

Ring Child Rewrite Chapter Seven "And in the darkness, bind them"

**Setting:** Moria; January 3018

Simply Speak _Friend_ and Enter.

Moria, or also _Khazed-dûm (_even _Dwarrowdelf_), was nothing like what Gimli had blabbered on about while they'd journeyed to the place. An underground Dwarven city (to Legolos' dismay) that lay beneath the Misty Mountains (a place that Frodo had told Harry during his stay at the Shire). The mountains seemed to be home to the many prideful treasures for a dwarf, including Mithril. Harry couldn't help but look at Frodo at that particular notion. He was well aware of what Bilbo had gifted to the younger hobbit. Frodo had found comradery in Harry, deciding to tell him most if not all he could think of before their departures.

To think that only a few hours after finding their way, Harry and the Company trapped themselves inside this nightmarish dwelling that had become of Moria. They had nearly (or rather Frodo had) been swallowed up by a sea-urchin of some kind. Only thanks to Aragorn's quick thinking and Sam's stubbornness had they managed to rescue the ring-bearer, but at the price of being locked within the dwelling of _Khazed-dûm. _Gimli had been the only one not perturbed by this turn of events. Boromir had even expressed his utter distaste for their chosen route and what they were left to do.

Harry had absolutely loathed this dark and nightmarish 'city', despite Gimli being in his elements. The dwarf and little wizard had very little contact with one another during their journey, despite being in the same company, so Harry had little niceties in his heart for the dwarf's joy. They'd spent roughly a day or two in here, Harry unsure exactly how long due to the amount of sleep his body had lately been claiming of him. Aragorn had taken to carrying him when his body failed him, though he often tried to walk alongside Frodo. Lack of energy wasn't the only thing to claim him, however. He'd also started to feel quite weepy over the silliest of things! When Boromir had scoffingly remarked on the burden of having a child in need of looking after, Harry's eyes had welled up with tears before he could stop them. Of course, Estel had snapped at the other man in retaliation, but Harry was left with the evidence that he was, for all appearances, indeed a child that they were burdened with.

"Steady! Steady!" cried Gandalf. "Steady! You do not know what is inside yet. I will go first." The wizard ushered the hobbits away from the entrance as he regained his lead of them, Merry and Pippin having been delighted in finally stopping for a rest. For the moment, Harry was grateful as well, but he said nothing as he came to a stop beside the elf the Fellowship.

The wide corridor that they were now in did not look anymore appeasing to Harry as the other pathways had, but he dutifully followed Legolas, just a smidge farther ahead than the miserable hobbits. The glimmer of the corridor seemed to grow slightly until they passed to a doorway. Stone-made and half open, Harry was vividly reminded of Hogwarts and its gloriously crafted doorways. One particular doorway flashed to his mind of a three headed beast, evoking a shiver of dismay through his body.

"Something wrong, little one?" Legolas asked in concern. Harry shook his head in response, looking up at the elf. Like Gimli, he'd found very little talk with this particular being during their time since Rivendell. That didn't mean Legolas didn't try, but Harry had had too many elves coddling him for his comfort, thank you very much.

"You could say a bad thought popped up," Harry said carefully, fully aware at this point his speech was… deteriorating for some reason. Certain words became tongue-tied or lost on him and even phrases he once had no trouble saying seemed uncomprehensive to him. The oddity of it all was that a word he could say even a moment ago sometimes… tripped in its construction when he spoke.

As their feet entered the suddenly bright chamber, Harry frowned to himself, keeping behind the others as they passed by him to enter the strangest of rooms. There was a white stone slab in the middle of the room, looking quite so much like a tomb that as Frodo voiced that very thought, Harry moved his way to a corner of the room, away from such a thing while Gandalf read it aloud.

BALIN SON OF FUNDIN  
LORD OF MORIA

"He is dead then," said Frodo. "I feared it was so."

Harry's eyes sought out the dwarf in their company, seeing Gimli silently grieving. Not knowing what else to do, he bowed his head in silent respect for this Balin. Despite his little acquaintance with Gimli, he still knew very much what it was like to know of death. As he was raising his head, he noticed Gandalf moving about the room until he lifted up a book.

Well, not so much a book anymore, he mused. It was worn and so fragile the book could have been dead too with its remains. The book was stained and partially burned from what Harry could tell as he walked over to Gandalf. As irksome as it was to be short, Harry continued attempting to study the book from his position below Gandalf until he was noticed. The Istar smiled briefly at him as his quick hands lifted Harry up under his arms and stood the de-aged wizard atop the slab. Harry didn't have much time beyond a startled squeak before Gandalf was looking away to continue read, Harry peaking over his shoulder, wishing Gandalf hadn't just lifted him up like a mindless rag doll even if it had been so he could see.

The literature told a history that led to such a demise Harry wished Gandalf knew how to _Obliviate_ his memory of these moments. Nonetheless, he shuddered.

"Such a grim phrase… _They are coming_," Harry couldn't help but say aloud. Gandalf looked at him briefly, nodding and shared a brief consideration about those words of the book, the Book of Mazarbul, before deciding they ought to vanish from here. An echo of a _plunk_ stopped them in their tracks and Gandalf snapped at the culprit.

"Fool of a Took!" growled the Istar as it became known Pippin had tossed a stone into the well. There were several knocks responding to the dropped stone, faint, but quite clear to Harry's nerves. _Tom-tap, tap-tom_. Were they signals? What on earth could produce that noise?

"That was the sound of a hammer, or I have never heard one," said Gimli.

"Yes," said Gandalf, "and I do not like it. It may have nothing to do with Peregrin's foolish stone; but probably something has been disturbed -."

It was, however, as soon as the words slipped out of Gandalf's mouth about their new destination that a loud noise, a boom from far below, resounded.

_Doom, Doom._

"What is happening?" Harry asked in alarm, slipping off the slab to join the others who now sprung to their feet in readiness.

"They are coming!" cried Legolas, his bow out and at his side.

"We cannot get out," said Gimli, who had tried to look for an exit it seemed.

"Trapped!" cried Gandalf. "Why did I delay? Here we are, caught, just as they were before. But I was not here then. We will see what—"

_Doom, Doom._

"Slam the doors and wedge them!" shouted Aragorn as he hurried to join Gimli. "And keep your packs on as long as you can: we may get a chance to cut our way out yet."

"No!" said Gandalf as he interrupted their process. "We must not get shut in. Keep the east door ajar! We will go that way, if we get a chance."

The harsh horn-call and cries rang in Harry's head and he couldn't stop himself. He whimpered, drawing Aragorn's attention to him briefly as Gandalf joined Boromir at the western door. Aragorn knelt down and put his hands on Harry's shoulder, causing the miniature boy-who-lived to look up.

"Listen to me Harry, we will get out of here. Do not lose faith _Tithen pen._" Estel said to their youngest companion. The Gryffindor looked at him silently, seeing nothing but Sirius Black in those same assuring eyes of the future king before he nodded, pulling forth his own staff from his bag, eyes seeking out Gandalf who nodded resignedly. They would need all hands on deck for this moment.

Orcs. That was what rained arrows down at them according to Gandalf as he had attempted to find their enemy. Black Uruks of Mordor and a cave-troll.

_Where's Hermione and Ron when you need them for another Troll?_ Harry asked himself silently just as Boromir flung himself to the door in attempt to slam it shut and wedge it with a broken sword-blade. They were attempting to escape on the other side of the chamber when a blow to the door made it quiver. The door slowly opened, a huge arm and shoulder with a greenish scale to it thrust through the gap. A great toeless foot soon followed and Harry almost caved to the bubbling emotions inside him when Boromir hewed at the arm, and then Frodo attacked the foot with Sting, his blade. But this did not end there, for a crash happened at the door, then another and another. _Rams against the door. _Harry pushed himself against the corner spot of the chamber, trembling slightly.

_Bloody Hell, Potter! Get a grip! _Harry scolded himself as the door cracked and suddenly he could try to become brave no more as the orcs descended on them. This was so surely traumatizing to the little wizard who'd only been in spell-bound battles that he nearly cowered. He couldn't though, not when his friends needed him!

_It's now or never!_ Harry forced his feet forward and pointed his staff towards the stumbling in orcs, shooting blasts of _Incendio _and _Confringo_ as fast as he could, feeling the pull on his magic as he did. It didn't take more than a minute or two before the others fled under the fierceness of the group and Harry would have been relieved as they attempted to retreat had it not been for the huge orc (some sort of chief?) leaping into the chamber with more followers. He was a brute of a cretin, leaving Harry with the confidence that this image would make it into his nightmares tonight. It flung aside Boromir, dodging Aragorn, and throwing Frodo into a wall in a vicious stab that had Harry crying out. But as it aimed for Frodo once more, Andúril came upon his helm, killing the orc instantly.

_Doom, Doom._

"Now!" shouted Gandalf. "Now is the last chance. Run for it!"

But Harry did not move as the others did. Aragorn had picked up Frodo and pushed the hobbits with him, Gimli being dragged by Legolas, and the others making their way out as fast as possible. Harry couldn't move, his mouth stuck open in a silent scream.

Something was appearing at the doors opposite of the one his companions had just left. He couldn't see what it was specifically, but he could hear the now dreadful voices of orcs on the other side muttering something dark and sinister that he felt he couldn't breathe in his newfound fear.

"Harry!" It seemed Gandalf had discovered he had not followed, for Harry was swiftly yanked up by the scruff of his top and heaved over Gandalf's shoulder as the wizard began to cast his own magic abound, keeping a tight hold on the little wizard.

Whatever was behind those doors was proving to meet a challenge for Gandalf as he struggled to hold whatever shutting spell he had cast. Orc voices were resounding and cackling, saying something that he could not hear. Harry clutched onto the robe of Gandalf as he felt an intense heat even more than that he'd experienced in the Room of Requirements with the Ravenclaw Diadem.

Gandalf was commanding something, of what he couldn't recognize, but he pushed his eyes into Gandalf's neck to hide his sight form what glimpses he could already see of a partially opening door.

"Harry, you must awaken from this." Gandalf said hurriedly as he made it to the top of the staircase amid more of the drum-beats. Something seemed to have blasted them as they flew down the stairs and landed in a heap in the midst of the Company. Harry winced as he felt his arm protesting the landing before he came to his senses.

"L…_Lumos_," whispered Harry finally, emerald green eyes looking up into Aragorn's worried face before he leaned over and lifted their smallest companion into his arms while Gandalf hurried to his own feet. Frodo seemed to have recovered from whatever had knocked him down, Harry was simply relieved he didn't know what. His whole body was quivering at the fear-inducing adrenaline shooting through him.

"Well, well! That's over!" said the wizard. "I have done all that I could. We had also left behind one lone youngling might I add, but I also met my match and have nearly been destroyed. Go! We must hurry! Harry, I must ask you to keep yourself lit." Harry nodded into Aragorn's shoulder and kept his aching arm raised, the tip of it glimmering in a faint familiar light. The company said nothing, perhaps the need for questions to come later as they followed Gandalf, the light of Harry's staff keeping their way. Gandalf took no turns although they did descend several flights of steps. Harry continued to cling tightly to Aragorn who did not release his hold of him.

They'd been running for near over an hour as far as Harry could tell and the pull on his magic was exhausting him. He was near the point of blacking out, but he held firm. He would not hinder their group with his weakling exhaustion.

"Keep awake, Harry," Aragorn murmured to him as they eventually ground to a halt and Gimli pulled Gandalf off.

"What happened away up there at the door?" Gimlie asked. "Did you meet the beater of the drums?"

"I do not know," answered Gandalf. "I had noticed our youngest companion missing and gone to retrieve him when I found myself, and he might I add, suddenly faced by something that I have not met before. I could think of nothing to do but to try and put a shutting-spell on the door. I know many; but to do things of that kind rightly requires time, and even then the door can be broken by strength.

'As I stood there I could hear orc-voices on the other side: at any moment I thought they would burst it open. I could not hear what was said; they seemed to be talking in their own hideous language. All I caught was _gh__âsh_: that is "fire". Then something came into the chamger – I felt it through the door, and the orcs themselves were afraid and fell silent. It laid hold of the iron ring, and then it perceived me and my spell.

'What it was I cannot guess, but I have never felt such a challenge. I snatched up young Harry and continued my casting, but the counter-spell was terrible. It nearly broke me. For an instant the door left my control and began to open! I had to speak a word of Command. That proved too great a strain. The door burst in pieces. Something dark as a cloud was blocking out all the light inside, and I was thrown backwards down the stairs. All the wall gave way, and the roof ot he chamber as well, I think.

'I am afraid Balin is buried deep, and maybe something else is buried there too. I cannot say. But at least the passage behind us was completely blocked. Ah! I have never felt so spent, but it is passing. And now what about you, Frodo? There was not time to say so, but I have never been more delighted in my life than when you spoke. I feared that it was a brave but dead hobbit that Aragorn was carrying.' (1)

Harry looked at Frodo in alarm. Dead? What had happened when he'd been falling into a state of shock? Had that stab from the large creature before nearly killed one of his first companions in this strange and dangerous realm?

"D-dead?" Harry stammered aloud. Aragorn looked down at him in surprise as the fellowship turned to him.

"You were with us, little one," Legolas answered with a frown.

"I… I t-thought he... but I-I," he stuttered in response, turning away to press himself into Aragorn's collarbone. Aragorn nudged him away from his hiding spot.

"Harry, why did you remain behind?" Gandalf finally questioned.

"I couldn't—I was para-para… stuck. I've never," Harry took a breath before whispering. "There was so much blood." He'd only ever witnessed body after body fall before, but never _so much bloodshed. _He just wanted to go home where Hermione and Ron would be. Where Ginny would be. Where he _wasn't in this forsaken hell hole!_

The group was silent, Frodo's apparent survival forgotten for the moment as even the hobbits processed just how _young_ their companion sounded. The protest of the little wizard joining them in the first place was brought back to their minds. It seems they had truly not given every shred of thought in their body to the truth of taking this _small child_ with them on a deadly journey. Gandalf looked perturbed as he too realized this.

Nothing was said as Aragorn merely brought Harry back towards him and offered a comforting pat on the back, nothing outlandish in his actions as he continued the motion until he could feel some of the tenseness disperse from the little wizard's shoulders.

"Alas, we have no more need to dawdle, so onward we must go," Gandalf finally spurred them on as they continued.

The journey went far beyond the Second Hall, the First Deep below the Gates, as they sought out the First Hall. Harry remained in the ranger's hold as the _doom, doom, doom_ continued to beat in the background, growing as the sounds of cries and horn-calls accompanied the foreboding noise.

They were running as the sounds grew, shouts of many throats bellowing as the company was spotted. Arrows were befalling onto their group as what seemed like hundred of orcs descended into the area. The drum-beats roared louder and louder, _doom, doom._

But it was not the orcs that had the diverse group filled with terror. No, the orcs had opened ranks to allow something even they were afraid of make way. It was not visible directly, but a dark form, of man-shape appeared, but greater; a power and terror in and before it. It came to the edge of the growing fire and the light faded as if a cloud appeared. Flames roared in greeting and blazed all around the creature.

"Ai! Ai!" wailed Legolas. "A Balrog! A Balrog is come!" Gimli's own eyes widened, the hobbits not understanding what a Balrog was but just as terrified.

"A Balrog," muttered Gandalf. "Now I understand." He faltered and leaned onto his own staff. Harry's grip on his own turned deathly white at the words. "What an evil fortune! And I am already weary."

They had no more time for rest as the _thing_ advanced in great threat.

"Over the bridge!" cried Gandalf. "Fly! This is a foe beyond any of you. I must hold the narrow way. Fly!" Aragorn was the only one not to halt in the doorway behind their leader, clutching Harry tightly as his hands gripped his sword.

"Lead them on, Aragorn," snapped Gandalf. "the bridge is near." Harry lifted his own eyes to see the bridge and then his eyes met Gandalf's. Something passed, an indescribable emotion in the Gray Wizard's eyes before Harry's own green ones widened.

"No! No, Gandalf," Harry pleaded. Gandalf gave Aragorn a shove to spur the ranger on.

"GO! Swords are no more use here!" Gandalf urged. Aragorn said nothing, his eyes shining with its own anguished emotion as he turned and ran to usher the others over the bridge, Harry watching as Gandalf stayed a few paces behind.

The Balrog had gotten within seeing distance now. So black and red with flames outlining its entire body. Nothing in Earth nor the Wizarding World could have ever looked as traumatic-inducing terror as _this_.

It had finally reached the bridge. Gandalf stood in the middle of the span, leaning on the staff in his left hand, but in his other held Glamdring with its cold and white gleam. His enemy halted before the Istar, the shadows of flames reaching out like two vast and demonic wings. It raised its whip and the thongs whined and cracked, but Gandalf stayed there.

"You cannot pass," Gandalf said. The orcs were deadly silent, not even twitching as the Fellowship tensed up. Harry pushed his hands against his holder's chest, but Aragorn did not budge. No! He needed- He needed to get to Gandalf! He could- He could! He had to do something!

"I am a servent of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor, You cannot pass. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn. Go back to the Shadow! You cannot pass."

The Balrog made no answer. The fire in it seemed to die, but the darkness grew. It stepped forward slowly on to the bridge, and suddenly it drew itself up to a great height, and its wings were spread from wall to wall; but still Gandalf could be seen, glimmering in the gloom; he seemed small, and altogether alone: grey and bent, like a wizened tree before the onset of a storm.

From out of the shadow a red sword leaped flaming. Glamdring glittered white in answer. There was a ringing clash and a stab of white fire. The Balrog fell back, and its sword flew up in molten fragments. The wizard swayed on the bridge, stepped back a pace, and then again stood still.

"You cannot pass!" he said. With a bound the Balrog leaped full upon the bridge. Its whip whirled and hissed.

"He cannot stand alone!" cried Aragorn suddenly and Harry felt himself pushed into the arms of Legolas who gripped him tightly as the ranger ran back along the bridge. "Elendil!" he shouted. "I am with you, Gandalf!"

'Gondor!' cried Boromir and leaped after him. At that moment Gandalf lifted his staff, and crying aloud he smote the bridge before him. The staff broke asunder and fell from his hand. A blinding sheet of white flame sprang up. The bridge cracked. Right at the Balrog's feet it broke, and the stone upon which it stood crashed into the gulf, while the rest remained, poised, quivering like a tongue of rock thrust out into emptiness. Nevertheless, Harry had a foreboding sense of dread rush him, eyes seeing and yet unseeing in that moment as another elderly wizard fought before him.

_A jet of green light shot from the end of Snape's wand and hit Dumbledore squarely in the chest. Harry's scream of horror never left him; silent and unmoving, he was forced to watch as Dumbledore was blasted into the air. (2)_

With a terrible cry the Balrog fell forward, and its shadow plunged down and vanished. But even as it fell it swung its whip, and the thongs lashed and curled about the wizard's knees, dragging him to the brink. He staggered and fell, grasped vainly at the stone, and slid into the abyss. 'Fly, you fools!' he cried, and was gone. (3) Harry's emerald irises widened, mind flashing towards more memories, ones he hadn't thought about since his arrival to Middle Earth.

_It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall. His body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backward through the ragged veil hanging from the arch… _

_"SIRUS!" Harry yelled. "SIRIUS!" (4)_

Harry screamed out, echoed by Frodo's despair as Boromir and Aragorn came running back toward them. The bridge was slowly crumbling, showing now hope of the return of their companion.

"Come! I will lead you now!" Aragorn called, voice determined. "We must obey his last command. Follow me!" But Harry couldn't focus, memories overcoming him as he tried to stay in the here and now even as the graveyard shot towards him.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

_A blast of green light blazed through Harry's eyelids, and he heard something heavy fall to the ground beside him; the pain in his scar reached such a pitch that he retched, and then it diminished; terrified of what he was about to see, he opened his stinging eyes. Cedric was lying spread-eagled on the ground beside him. _

_He was dead. (5)_

"No! N—No! Gandalf! GANDALF" Harry yelled as he jerked to the present once Legolas begun to move; eyes searched the former bridge even as Legolas held him tightly while the group ran up the stairs beyond the door, the sound of weeping coming from no doubt Sam or Frodo. _Doom, doom, doom_ continued, though slower and sinister in a way that would forever haunt the 18-year-old.

Harry tried to get out of Legolas' grasp even as the bridge disappeared from sight, his mind whirling with any and every thought imaginable plaguing him. He paid very little attention to the sound of Aragorn beating away the orcs at the great door-posts, not even comprehending the sudden taste of fresh hair as opposed to the stifling flaming heat of Moria. Even through his grief at someone whom he'd grown exceedingly close to, he'd also realized with great anguish another face through his emotions.

With Gandalf gone, he would never be able to get home.

**Author's Note:** Thank you everyone for your patience. Some of the comments from my readers definitely gave me a new direction to take Harry, as ideas starting coming to mind once things came together. As I stated before, please vote on the poll in my profile. If you have any, and I mean any, theories or suggestions for this story or the plot of LOTR overall, please feel free to PM me or leave a Review. I take a lot of it into consideration.

(1) Chapter Five, Fellowship of the Ring

(2) Pages 595-596 Half Blood Prince

(3) Pages 426 to 432 (Fellowship of the Ring) or so has a lot of replica of the exact scene, along with the Balrog scene of the movie. Tolkein and the movie directors do far better a job than I ever could at the scene, so I honestly couldn't really change much in that regard.

(4) Page 806 Order of the Phoenix

(5) Page 633 Goblet of Fire


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